Chrysalids Revisited
by UncleAxel
Summary: This is my first effort at FanFic. I first read The Chrysalids as a child, when the book first appeared in the 1950s (that betrays my age!). For a BildungsRoman, it is obviously easier at that age to follow the earlier parts of the book, I did not finish it until much later. I never liked the ending (who did?). Anyway, we follow Michael on his further adventures. With another!
1. Chapter 1

**Preface**

My idea was to write a continuation of _The Chrysalids_ in a similar narrative style to that of John Wyndham, trying to keep to his attention to detail and episodic events; a sort of picaresque style if you like. I wanted to keep following the adventures of Michael and Rachel, whilst leaving the problem of what happens to David, Rosalind and Petra until much later. In fact that might best be left for another book.

As you can see, I've adopted the name of one of the characters in the book, although he doesn't appear in this version (and maybe won't ever). This is because the only Fanfic I propose to write will be based on _The Chrysalids_: I have no plans of going elsewhere!

As you will also see, I have 'brought back to life' Sophie, in a plausible scenario. This is not to say I am re-casting David as an Unreliable Narrator, although as you can see he is capable of making mistakes. Thinking that Sophie is dead when she is in fact only stunned is quite consistent both with Wyndham's narrative and my own. There will be other examples later in the book.

I have now got up to chapter 25 in a book that will probably eventually run to 40+ chapters - although my chapters are fairly short.

(Update: 17 February 2020) I have made some small amendments to the early chapters and am putting the first 18 chapters online.

(Update: 24 February 2020) Chapters 19-25 now added online. Michael and Rachel now in Rigo.

I would welcome some feedback!

"UncleAxel"

* * *

**Chrysalids Revisited**

** Chapter 1**

Michael stood stock-still in the middle of the clearing, watching the flying machine dwindle in the sky until it vanished.

On board were his friends David and Rosalind, and David's young sister Petra, who, he knew, were being whisked to safety far far away. The 'Sealand woman' (she had said "Zealand"—perhaps that was the correct name for her country?) had appeared on the scene, _dea ex machina-_like, in the nick of time—not merely to rescue the fugitives, but also to put an end, once and for all, to the pitched battle raging between the Fringes people and the Waknuk raiding party.

_How_ she had achieved that last result, however—the cold weapon she had employed—that had filled him with stark horror. He had been careful to conceal his emotions about the whole scene from his friends—especially from Petra, who was surely too young to fully understand the implications. At least, he hoped she was too young.

At present, he could sense Petra's thought-shapes as she babbled to her companions. Yes: she seemed unperturbed. All her thoughts were about the thrill of flying, and about the promise of a fantastic new land to discover. David's and Rosalind's thoughts, on the other hand, were already too faint to be discerned. Michael thought to himself: that's all for the best. There were things going on in his mind that he did not wish to share. Possibly David and Rosalind didn't want to share their feelings either.

What the Zealand woman (she had never given a name) and her crew had done, that terrible action, was to scatter thin sticky white threads all over the clearing. Harmless enough, one might have thought. But these threads were _very_ sticky—impossibly strong and sticky—wherever they had touched a human being or an animal, they had trapped them in a web from which they could not escape—a web in which they could only struggle, and eventually succumb to asphyxiation. As far as he could see no-one had survived this slaughter. No-one but he—and he was unhurt. The Zealand woman had sprayed him with some kind of solvent to dissolve the sticky threads, saving his life.

The corpses lying around the clearing were already becoming distorted and unrecognisable—but he knew who they were. He had calmly watched them die in the heat of battle, but now the battle was over and he could reflect. Many of them were his friends...

Already feeling sick, he urgently needed to get away from the clearing and the carnage. As he stumbled his way between the corpses, being careful to avoid the white threads ('plastic' was the word the Zealand woman had used to describe them, but the word meant nothing to him), he noticed a slight movement out of the corner of his eye.

A young woman who had lain, seemingly dead, just out of range of the sticky threads. A woman whom he recognised, even though he had never met her. A woman who had played a part in saving his companions' lives—he did not need to see her feet to know who she was...

Sophie! She was still alive!

Despite the nausea which was almost consuming him, and the danger of lingering too long in this place, Michael made up his mind instantly. Of all the Fringes people, he could not abandon this woman. He made his way towards her. As he did so, he passed the body of her lover Gordon—the 'spider-man' David had called him—who was certainly dead, enveloped in the threads. Two arrows had struck Sophie. One had certainly pierced her arm, but the other had scarcely grazed her. David had, wrongly, reported that the second arrow had caught her in the neck and killed her outright—but no: it had lodged in the shoulder and the wound did not look too severe. The arrow had struck on her shoulder blade and not penetrated too deeply, but the shock had knocked her unconscious. There was a good chance that both wounds would heal.

Michael took the decision to pluck out the arrows straight away, while Sophie was still semi-comatose. As he did so, as gently as possible, Sophie groaned but did not call out. The arm wound bled freely: Michael tore up his shirt to fashion a makeshift bandage. The first bandage quickly soaked through, so he took it off and put on a second one. To his relief the bleeding seemed to have now been stemmed. He fashioned a rude sling for her. Then he gently peeled off her bodice, and, trying not to look at her breasts, he carefully wrapped the remainder of his shirt around her shoulder and under her armpit.

Then he hastily replaced her bodice, which although torn and bloodstained was still wearable, and carefully lifted her—she was no great weight—and carried her across the clearing, through the cleft and out to the river bank. There he laid her carefully on the ground. He turned away from her and vomited.

It took him many minutes to recover himself.

The river bank seemed as devoid of life as the camp. But he could see no bodies lying on this side of the cliff. He took a deep draught of water from the river, then filled his water-bottle and turned to Sophie once more. She was now conscious, and surprisingly well-composed in spite of the pain she must have been in. He gave her a drink of water. She looked at him, puzzled.

"I'm Michael. I'm a friend of David and Rosalind's..."

She was instantly alert—and alarmed. "David and Rosalind—and Petra! _What's happened to them_?"

"They're safe. They're now far away from here. That's all I can tell you for now."

"You're another of those people? The ones who can 'talk' with their thoughts?"

"Yes I am."

"Why the hell should I trust you?"

"You saved the lives of my friends. I owe you everything for that. And you were David's friend. That makes you my friend. Is that enough?"

Sophie lifted herself on her good arm, and thought about it for a long time. "Gordon's dead, isn't he..." she finally said.

"Yes, I'm sorry, I'm afraid he is. I know about Gordon. Gordon and you."

She seemed to accept that. "So where are the rest of my people?" She became suddenly agitated. She attempted to sit up, and stared at the cleft leading back into the clearing and the camp—then she weakly sank back to the ground.

"I'm sorry," said Michael, quickly. "You can't go back there. You really can't."

"Why not? What about my people? Did your people kill them all?"

"I can't explain. Not now. Please understand. But it's too dangerous for you to go back there. If you stay with me, I can take you to somewhere where you can rest—where you can get food and drink—somewhere where you can live, even. Somewhere away from the Fringes."

"But what about—?" She pointed to her bare feet.

Years earlier, when Sophie was a mere child, she and David had met by chance. David—also only a child—had discovered that she had six toes on each foot. Her parents had carefully concealed this fact. In the district where they lived, where anyone with a genetic mutation was persecuted: sterilised and ruthlessly cast out to fend for themselves in the Fringes, such knowledge was perilous. For several months they managed to keep their secret—but eventually they had been found out, and Sophie had been consigned to the Fringes. Only there could she live without being persecuted, but it was a life of abject deprivation and poverty, and with no future to look forward to. Michael guessed that if she was offered a chance to return to 'civilised' country, safely, she would surely leap at it.

And he had another plan, too—but only David and Rosalind, and Rachel back at Waknuk, knew about it.

"Listen, Sophie," he said—thinking ahead and mindful of the fact that the spiritual leader of Waknuk, the puritanical and tyrannical Joseph Strorm, David's father, was dead. "It may be that things will have changed at Waknuk, since you were there. You may be able to lead a normal life without ever being found out. And there may be other places, less authoritarian than Waknuk. I don't know, but it's worth trying. Will you come with me?"

Sophie paused and considered. Did she trust Michael? If only she could penetrate his thoughts, as the others could! She remembered how her mother had had some sort of 'understanding' with David. Perhaps she had some sort of power too—nascent and not yet developed. Could it come to anything? She strained her thoughts hard—but Michael appeared not to react.

Anyway, Michael was being cagey about the happenings in the clearing, but it was clearly no use for her to try and go back there and discover for herself. Whatever had happened must have been terrible...

"I'll come with you," she finally said.

"Good," said Michael. "We'll have to find you some shoes, of course. Now, the first thing we need is a horse. You wait here while I go to look for one."

With that, he turned to the river, and walked upstream until he recognised the place where they had crossed, near to the pear-shaped tree. Testing the water, he found that it was not at all deep, and he could easily wade across. Climbing to the far bank and following the path for another mile, his luck held out. There was a horse quietly grazing on the verge, while its fallen rider lay dead on his face on the path. Clearly one of his party: turning the body over, he recognised one of the Waknuk farmers. He had been killed by a sniper's arrow fired from the forest. The horse looked unhurt and in good shape. Hoping that the sniper had long since moved on, Michael caught the reins and tied the horse to a tree. Then he searched the body, stripping the shirt off it to replace his own. He could find no gun, but there was a bow and a few arrows, and some food in the horse's saddlebags. Untying the horse, he mounted and rode quickly back to the river.

Sophie was now sitting up and seemed in better spirits. She evidently had amazingly rapid powers of recovery—a consequence of the hardships of Fringe life no doubt. Together they ate some of the food: then Michael lifted Sophie up on the horse's back and mounted in front of her, instructing her to cling on as tightly as she could.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Where are we going?" asked Sophie, after they had ridden without speaking for several miles. "To Waknuk?"

"For the moment, yes, back towards Waknuk. It's dangerous for you, but less dangerous than staying here. I know the area well and it's our best chance of getting you—and me—to somewhere really safe. And there's something else. There's someone back at Waknuk..."

"A woman, is it? I might have guessed!"

Michael decided to be open with her. "Yes, Sophie, a woman. One of _us_." He emphasised the "us" so that she understood.

"Another one who can give you babies, when I can't..." she said bitterly. Michael could see that she was close to tears.

"Please, Sophie, try to understand. Yes we're all terribly sorry about what happened to you, when you first came to the Fringes. But we can't undo that: no-one can. You must try to come to terms with it. There are women in Waknuk and the surrounding district, and Kentak too, who can't have babies. Not because of … what happened to you. They just can't. Many of them go on to lead happy and loving married lives. It's not the best, but it's a reason for living. Surely you can see that?"

Sophie made no reply. She was clearly unconvinced. But she held back her tears for then.

What Michael had been searching for, of course, was the place where he had last been close enough to contact Rachel by thought-shapes. With every step they were drawing closer to being in range. So far, testing every few minutes, he had drawn a blank. And it was now getting dark.

"We'll have to rest here. And we need to keep watch. Do you think you can manage that? Can you handle a bow?" He handed her the bow and arrows without even thinking.

"Of course I can," replied Sophie, relieved to be offered a task that she could fulfil. "How do you suppose we get food in the Fringes? We're taught to shoot almost as soon as we can walk. But how on earth can I use a bow with this?" pointing to her bound-up arm in a sling.

Michael apologised for not having thought it through—his mind was so occupied with worries about Rachel. "Oh well, we'll have to do the best we can," taking back the bow and laying it on the ground. "Will you take first watch? Wake me at once if you hear or see anything."

"All right," said Sophie.

Michael gratefully lay down on the ground and was fast asleep in minutes. A few hours later, Sophie woke him with the report that nothing amiss had happened; not a soul had come by; and he took over the watch for what was left of the night.

The next morning, without having seen anyone, they mounted and resumed their journey.

After little over an hour, to his infinite joy, Michael was able to re-establish contact with Rachel. She too was delighted, and could not conceal her feelings towards Michael. For a while they exchanged frantic love-talk—Michael at last realising that his feelings towards Rachel were more than just friendship.

It took quite a while before they were able to disentangle their emotions and turn to more mundane matters.

Finally, Rachel became composed. She at once asked what had happened to him, and also what had happened to David, Rosalind, and Petra. Michael, once again, had to be cagey about this. Because they were using thought-shapes, he had to be even more careful than he had been with Sophie. He merely said that the other three were safe—they had been carried off to safety by the Sealand woman (not Sealand! "Zealand"). Of the scene at the Fringes clearing he kept his mind closed: he tried not to even think of what he had seen there.

"_And where are you? Are you coming back?"_ asked Rachel. Michael was relieved not to have been pressed further on the scenes at the clearing. "_Yes, I am,"_ he replied, "_and I'm bringing someone with me. One of the Fringes people. Please don't worry."_

That seemed to satisfy Rachel—after all she was a very clear-headed girl, and knew that Michael would never have fallen in with someone who could be a danger to them. So instead she passed on all the news about Waknuk and the surrounding area. There wasn't much to report. No-one had yet returned from the sortie into Fringe territory, so no news had come from that direction. The farm-work was continuing as best they could manage with so many of their menfolk absent.

They resumed occasional bouts of love-talk, but it dawned on Rachel that Michael had to devote all his attention to path-finding, so she left him in peace.

Michael was suddenly aware of Sophie, behind him, having become very still, as if she were frozen. He reined in the horse and dismounted, turning to look at her. Still astride the horse, she was regarding him with a thoughtful expression.

"You were 'talking' to that girl, weren't you. The one back in Waknuk? I could tell."

"Yes, I was. Please don't be upset about it. I needed to tell here we're on our way."

"I think you told her a lot more than that! But I'm not upset. All right: I was a bit upset when I realised David was 'talking' to Rosalind even though she wasn't there—back in the cave. But I've got over that. You and your friends have something I haven't got—at least not now. But I wonder if I'm picking some thoughts up. I seemed to get some lovey-dovey thoughts coming from Rachel, besides those from you..."

Michael was astonished—and a bit embarrassed—but quickly composed himself. "Try to send me a thought of yours," he said. And quietly to Rachel: "_Please don't butt in!"_

He opened his mind to full reception and strained to pick up something from Sophie. Yes there was something there: some feeling of joy at her rescue and some tender thoughts towards Michael her rescuer. But it was too incoherent to be properly described as thought-speech. After a while Sophie held up her hand.

"Yes you have something there," said Michael, bemused. "I wonder? Did you have any of this while in the Fringes? Or before?"

"No, but my mother did. David told me that, when we first met, just after he found out about my feet, he could pick up some of her 'worried' thoughts quite easily. But she never knew she was making them."

"I wonder..." Michael muttered, again, quietly to himself.

"And besides: Mother told me once that she thought David could read her mind. I thought little of it at the time. But now—all of a sudden—something's happened to me."

"Is it, perhaps, that being in the company of people who can do thought-shapes, sort of stimulates the latent power in others...?"

"Maybe," replied Sophie. "But I spent a lot of time as a child in David's company. And nothing like this happened to me back then. Of course I didn't know everything about him in those days..."

Michael said nothing but re-mounted, and they continued along the path.

For several days they rode through the forest. Once or twice they had the good fortune to shoot a rabbit, but they had very few arrows, and Michael did not want to risk losing any, so they took no risks. Sophie recovered with remarkable speed: clearly the hardships of Fringe life had strengthened her physically. In a few days she was able to remove the sling, and could shoot almost as well as Michael. But still they encountered not a soul: the whole countryside seemed deserted.

And they were running low on food.

Their horse was now visibly getting very tired. For a while Michael dismounted and walked alongside. They were now out of the forest, and Michael recognised the more open country as the place where the first shots had been fired, and the great-horses had bolted into the forest.

"There's a farm some miles further on," Michael announced. "I remember us assembling there. The great-horses bearing David and the others, towards the Fringes, had charged through it but the farm people were unable to stop them. We arrived some time later and gathered there before pushing on into the forest. It may be that we can get help there—even a second horse perhaps. I have a little money. The people of the farm will be Wild Country folk. They won't persecute human Deviations like the Waknuk folk do. They may not even notice. Or you could stay hidden..."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It was late afternoon when they at last spotted a dingy old ramshackle farmhouse and some rude huts or barns, about a mile off—scarcely enough to call the place a 'farm'. And, ominously, there appeared to be a thin curl of smoke rising from it. There didn't seem to be any sign of life.

"That's the spot. You'd best wait here," said Michael. "Although I expect the Wild Country folk to be safe, there may be Waknuk people around. Keep hidden: don't worry I'll remember the spot exactly. I hope to be no more than an hour. If I do meet Waknuk men, I'll try to head them off somehow."

Sophie knew how to hide, of course: she'd been more or less in hiding ever since childhood. With amazing agility, considering her recent injuries which were now almost healed, she swung herself up into a large tree and nestled there, amongst the branches of the crown. No-one who didn't know she was there could have spotted her.

Michael was as good as his word. Within the hour he was back at the tree and handing Sophie down.

"The place seems to be completely deserted—and that's a barn on fire, practically burnt to the ground now. But the farmhouse itself appears to be untouched. I can't account for that: there were people here when we passed by: we didn't threaten them, and we didn't torch anything. Perhaps a following group, less scrupulous, took exception to whatever the barn was storing: something deviational, no doubt. And maybe the people of the farm fled before them. At least we can get some rest there."

"But what if the people return?" asked Sophie. "I mean the owners?"

"It's highly unlikely they'll return tonight. They'll want to be sure the Waknuk raiders are clear of the area first. And it'll be safer for them in daylight. Come on."

Half an hour later they were at the farmhouse, such as it was. It was now dark outside. They tethered the horse to a nearby tree under which some grass was growing, and tried the door. It was unlocked. Inside, it was already pitch-dark, but groping around, Michael found a candle and soon had a bright light burning. They found themselves in a surprisingly clean and spacious kitchen. There was a range with a couple of copper kettles, burnished pans hanging from hooks around the walls, and several hams hung from a string over the range. In the middle was a large, rough-hewn table and some chairs.

They noticed a back door to the kitchen. Pushing that open, they found themselves in a small but cosy bedroom with two beds pushed side-by-side, and a wardrobe which they eagerly opened to reveal several sets of clothes—men's and women's too—on hangers. Michael was overjoyed at this discovery.

"New clothes for you at last! And shoes! You can't go into the Waknuk district dressed like that—" for Sophie still had nothing on but the ragged skirt and blouse which she had been wearing all the way from the Fringes. The blouse without the obligatory cross. "And I could do with some clean clothes too—"

"But surely we can't just take them," Sophie protested. "That'd be stealing."

"Sophie, listen. This whole country is now in a state of war. Our duty is to save ourselves. If that means taking clothes, we'll take clothes. I also mean to take some of that ham—we're practically out of food. And what about your feet? You still have no shoes!"

Sophie saw the sense in that, of course. But she was also dog-tired. "I can't possibly choose clothes in this light. Let's wait till morning." With that, she flung herself on one of the beds and was almost instantly fast asleep.

Michael searched around for a few minutes longer: he noticed a small back door which opened onto a yard with a well: the kitchen and the bedroom appeared to be the only rooms in the house. But Sophie was right. Best wait until morning. Lying down on the other bed, he too soon fell fast asleep.

Michael woke just as the sun was rising. He sat up and looked around him. Sophie was still fast asleep in the other bed, still in her stained and torn blouse and skirt, and very dirty. He looked at her intently. Her features coarsened of course by years of hardship and affliction in the Fringes, there was still a sort of elemental beauty about her. Her tangled black hair, her brown skin, the shape of her body, the swell of her hips... Michael felt himself being strangely drawn to her. No! He must keep such thoughts close to his chest. Quickly he turned away.

Trying not to disturb her, he got up and tiptoed into the kitchen. Searching around, he found a loaf of bread still reasonably fresh, a sack of potatoes and another sack containing what appeared to be oats. He filled a bowl and went out to where the horse was grazing. It seemed in good spirits and well-rested, and gratefully accepted the oats as well as a bucket of water. Michael decided that they ought to rest up at the farm for the rest of the day and another night—it would do them all good. Going back into the kitchen, he searched out a bar of soap and then busied himself with lighting the range and putting two kettles on to boil. He had found a large washtub in the back yard which looked as if it could serve as a bath—they both needed one! He filled the tub from the well and was just topping-up with boiling water from the kettles, when Sophie appeared from the bedroom, rubbing her eyes. As soon as she noticed the tub and felt the already-lukewarm water, she grinned at him.

"Good thinking, Michael. I've been dying for a nice warm bath for ages..."

Was she remembering her former life, with her parents, before they were caught?

"All right, Sophie. You go first," said Michael, turning to go back into the bedroom.

"Don't be silly, Michael. There's plenty of room for us both," and without another word, she untied the bandage that was still wrapped around her arm, stripped off her blouse and skirt, and clambered into the tub.

Michael was dumbfounded. This was all new to him: he had never seen a grown woman naked before, and only once had he seen a woman's breasts—and that had been when he'd dressed Sophie's shoulder wound some days before. He tried to avert his eyes from the tub, but found he could not. Sophie was still grinning at him coquettishly, and there was a hint of a vague thought-shape coming from her: involuntarily, no doubt, but a real thought-shape all the same. The meaning was indistinct, but was there a suggestion of "_I want you"_?

Whatever her thought-shapes were telling him it was clear that Sophie sensed his uneasiness. In words, she was reassuring, saying "come on Michael. Don't be shy. Don't you understand?—in the Fringes we all used to go together to the river on washing day, and most of us had only one set of clothes. So we'd all strip off—men and women together—and after washing the clothes we'd all join in for a swim. So we're used to it, even if your people aren't. Come on, get your clothes off..."

So it was all right, thought Michael—being careful not to broadcast his thoughts. He did not dare to think of Rachel learning any of this. Sophie was merely behaving as she had done in the Fringes—with any other man or woman who'd happened to be at the river when she was there. It didn't _mean_ anything. It was purely social. The thought-shape he'd caught: he must have been mistaken. Slowly he peeled off his clothes.

But, whatever his mind was telling him, his manhood was betraying him. His manhood took in the fact that Sophie, washed and tidied up, could become an extremely beautiful girl; and that she was putting out the message _"I owe you everything."_ Did everything include this? Whether it did or not, his shyness made him cup his groin in his hand as he slowly climbed into the bath alongside her.

Now Sophie's manner became more urgent. "Take your hand away, silly!" she ordered. Michael could not resist. She looked down for a moment, seeing how much he wanted her now, then clamped her mouth over his, and wrapped her legs around his hips...


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

They were lying on one of the beds, still naked.

Michael's thoughts were more or less composed again. The passion that had consumed him, in the bath and on the bed, was abated. He could look at Sophie without embarrassment—look at her as a woman rather than as a lover, and realise how much of an improvement had come over her. Scrubbed clean of dirt, with her hair combed, she might not be Labrador's—or even the world's—most glamorous beauty, but her underlying charm was certainly there. But there was something still bothering him. He did not know how to put it.

"Sophie," he said. "When you first went to the Fringes, they—well they did 'something', didn't they? So how...?"

Sophie said nothing. She lay on her back, but Michael noticed tears in her eyes. Almost at once he regretted asking the question. But he could think of nothing else to say...

After a long time, Sophie said, quietly, "Michael. I trust you. These are things I thought I'd never want to talk about—not ever again. But now I feel I must talk about them—to you.

"After all, you didn't expect me to be able to do this, did you? Nor did most of the Fringes people. With good reason...

"When my parents and me were—captured, we were no longer in Waknuk district, but many miles away. The village to where we were taken, they didn't have anyone who could do—who could do—_that_. It appeared that the nearest place where they 'prepared' people like us for the Fringes, was Kentak.

"So we were taken to Kentak. There, it gets a bit hazy, but I believe that the doctors in Kentak were only experienced with small babies. They had never operated on a ten-year-old girl. Anyway, the next I can remember, I was put in a coach for the long journey to Rigo. All alone.

"My parents said goodbye to me in Kentak. I must have cried piteously, but they tried to reassure me—as best they could, since they were under guard. They told me, they would be sent to prison, but as soon as they got out they would come and find me. Well—that was years ago, and I haven't heard from them since, but they may still be alive. Of course I miss them—but I'm glad they never got to see me as I was—living back _there_...

"Anyway, in Rigo, I was taken to see a doctor. An awfully nice doctor, a woman, she was quite kind to me actually. She said she had to do what she had to do: it was the Law. But she'd try to make it as painless as she could. It didn't hurt much. After a day or two, I was able to get up. She told me, I'd never have children, and I'd never have the monthly bleeding. That last, I didn't understand at the time, but I do now...

"Then I came to the Fringes. As I grew up I found I was able to do—what we've done. Most of the Fringe people can't..."

Michael could think of nothing to say. But he thought he understood.

It was almost midday now, and no-one had been seen—not the owners of the farm, nor anyone from Waknuk or other 'civilised' parts. Michael thought he had guessed correctly, that they would be safe there for another night. Further than that, he was not prepared to risk.

They had now dressed themselves in more 'decent' clothes. Sophie had found a dark green dress that fitted her fairly well; also a pair of moccasins—most important!—as well as some underwear and a spare dress. Michael was arrayed in a farm-worker's outfit and could have passed for a farm-hand anywhere. They had also found some apples and another bow with a few arrows. Along with the ham and the potatoes, they were able to make a hearty meal for the first time in days—weeks even.

Michael had contacted Rachel late in the morning, being careful to focus his mind on mundane matters: explaining where they were and that he'd been too tired to communicate the night before. She seemed to accept that. He also said that they would take longer to reach her than originally planned.

Had anything happened since their last contact? he asked. Yes, she replied, a few men from the raiding parties had limped into Waknuk the day before. Some were wounded; all were in an emaciated state and gave very confused reports, clearly traumatised by some terrible event that they had witnessed. Rachel recalled that Michael had not wanted to tell her much, either, and she appreciated that. The stories given by the men were fragmentary and contradicted one another, but a common theme appeared to refer to 'giant spiders' having emerged from the forest and slaughtered everyone in sight. One man even claimed to have seen one of these monster creatures actually flying through the air. Rachel thought this was too fantastic: although deviational beasts were common enough, in civilised country as well as the Fringes, and many were ferocious and dangerous, none of them had in the least evolved to the gigantic proportions which this account would seem to suggest. And not one of these deviants had ever mastered the art of flying. Birds could fly, and birds were small. That was the end of it.

Michael thought, this was a good story to put across: a good 'cover' for what had actually happened, and he explained that there was some truth in the men's account, while being careful to avoid specifics. It was a plausible theme: that spiders or similar creatures had evolved from mutations in the Fringes. The last thing he wanted to do was to give any hint of the Zealanders' superhuman powers of mass slaughter. He had not told all to Sophie, and he was not sure if he wanted to tell Rachel even once they were face-to-face.

But Rachel already knew that David, Rosalind and Petra had escaped in some sort of 'flying machine'. He would have to be more specific about that. She'd probably have guessed that that was what the terrified man had mistaken for a 'flying spider'. Well, he had time to think about it. And about other things!

Michael was busy occupying himself with mundane tasks around the farm, chiefly to make themselves ready for their onward journey. He tried not to focus his mind on what had happened that morning, but he could not get away from the fact: what he had experienced was the most ecstatic, the most pleasurable feeling in his whole life. And he knew that Sophie had found pleasure in it too: he did not need her fragmentary thought-shapes to know that.

But he still wanted to get back to Rachel as soon as possible. How things would turn out, when they did meet, he could not fathom—but they had to meet.

Meanwhile, he had searched around the surrounding countryside, up to a mile or more in each direction, mainly in the hope of finding another horse. He had no luck. The whole countryside seemed deserted, and there were no other farms within reach. However, he did make an important discovery in the other barn: the one that had not been burnt down. In a corner was a broken-down light dog-cart and some harness.

Could their horse be harnessed to this cart, he wondered. He did not know whether the horse would accept this, but they had no other choice. With the extra clothes and food which they had gathered up, they were obviously far too big a burden for the horse to carry. How he wished for one of Angus Morton's great-horses—the 26-hand beasts which had carried David and his companions toward the Fringes! But those animals were lost to them. However, if they could persuade their horse to draw this cart, they might get to Waknuk in just a few more days...

Michael examined the cart, and discovered that its axle was broken. He was a good handyman, and there were pieces of timber and some tools lying about in the barn. He set to and did his best to repair the cart: after a couple of hours' work he decided that it would serve, though he would not trust it on a long journey. Perhaps it could get them as far as Waknuk.

That evening they sat down at the kitchen table to what was, for Michael, the most sumptuous meal since he had left Waknuk—and for Sophie probably the best since she had been taken from her parents, sterilised and banished to the Fringes, many years before. Sophie had found cabbages growing next to the farm, and together they prepared a veritable feast. There were even bottles of wine on a shelf, but they preferred not to touch those. They had already made free of enough in the farmhouse—Michael was beginning to think he should return, in a more peaceful time, and make amends somehow.

He had no doubt now, as to what would happen once they had finished their meal. Sophie stood up, kissed him passionately, and beckoned to him. He did not need to follow her into the bedroom, to see her strip off her clothes, to know what was in store. This time there was no shyness as he joined her in the bed...

But he was still worried. Eventually they both drifted off to sleep, but he awoke while it was still dark. For half an hour, perhaps, he lay awake, unable to get to sleep. He perceived that Sophie was also awake. She got up and went to the wardrobe, finding a nightdress which she slipped on. Then she returned to the bed and turned to face him.

"You are worried about you and Rachel, aren't you, my dear," she murmured. "Don't try to deny it: I can feel it in your thoughts. Please understand, Michael, everything will come out right for you, in the end. Don't you understand? Yes, this morning, and this evening, you and me—were—delightful—but I'm not your girl, and you're not my man. We are too different, and we shall in time go our separate ways. I know you want to, eventually, follow your friends—to wherever they've gone to. They've left Labrador behind, haven't they? I don't. I want to find a man who can love me for what I am: a man somewhere in Labrador, not further—almost certainly. One who can understand how it is possible for a couple to love one another without children. You will want a wife whom you _really_ love—with whom you can raise a family. Go to Rachel!"

Michael realised at once how sensible she was. More sensible than he—and certainly more sensible than David, who had befriended her as a child. They had enjoyed their brief affair, but they were mismatched. Their passion would not last. And he realised he had not really betrayed Rachel.

But he wondered how Rachel would see it. He still did not dare to send her more than the most mundane thought-shapes.

In the morning they harnessed the horse to the cart, and to their relief it seemed quite at ease with it. Evidently it had pulled a cart before. After a trial run around the farm, to make sure that the repaired axle was turning freely, they loaded up the cart and set forth.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Michael estimated that they were only about two days' journey from Waknuk: they were now leaving the Wild Country and returning to more civilised country: the country he was familiar with. He still marvelled at their good fortune in not meeting a single person, all the way from the Fringes, but their luck did not hold out. Towards the afternoon of the first day, they began to meet people. People walking, people on horseback, people driving carts like theirs. 'Normal' people going about their business. None of them took any notice of Michael and Sophie: they looked just like any farming couple. He noticed that most of the people were women. Then of course he realised. Almost all the menfolk of Waknuk and surrounding districts had been called away to the raiding party. Most of them would be dead. Did these people know that, yet?

Towards the end of the second day, things changed. They saw a ragged, unkempt man carrying a gun, walking towards them. As soon as he saw them, he raised his gun, aimed straight at them, and fired. But their horse took fright at the sudden movement and reared up. The bullet, evidently meant for Michael, struck the horse in the foreleg. It sank down again, then crumpled onto the ground, clearly in agony, almost upsetting the cart. The man was busy trying to reload his gun, but Sophie was too quick for him. Before Michael could even reach for his bow, she had planted an arrow in his chest.

Michael got down and approached the fallen man. He was clearly quite dead, the arrow having pierced his heart. Then Michael turned his attention to the horse which had saved his life. It was in a pitiful state: its foreleg clearly shattered by the bullet. Michael knew at once what he had to do. Picking up the gun and reloading it, he went to the horse and pointed the gun at its head. Sophie looked away...

"What do you think he wanted?" asked Sophie, as they unloaded the cart, unharnessed it, and pushed it into the woods, trying to hide it as best they could. "Do you think he knew...?"

"No, unlikely," said Michael. "I think he just wanted the horse—and cart."

They had to hide what was left of their provisions, and shoulder what they needed for the rest of the journey—on foot. They also tried to hide the man's body. The cart was too heavy for them to drag further on the path. And they could do nothing about the dead horse. Michael guessed that they were only a few miles from Waknuk He had contacted Rachel again, told her they would soon be with her. Rachel was in good spirits.

Next morning, Michael's plan was to visit Rachel's farm first, and find out how things stood there—find out more, that is, than Rachel was prepared to tell him. Afterwards he would quickly make it to his own home. His parents would be anxious about him, especially if they had heard rumours about the 'spiders'. His father, especially, who had been too old to join the raiding party—thankfully. And he needed to find out for sure what had become of Sally and Katherine, who had been captured and tortured—and Mark, who had simply disappeared. He feared the worst.

Steering well clear of Waknuk itself, they tramped through the familiar country towards Rachel's farm, which was just to the west. As they approached, they heard the dogs barking and running out to greet them, closely followed by Rachel herself, who flung herself into Michael's arms. They clung tightly to each other for a long time, while Sophie watched them with a smile on her face...

In the farmhouse, they were introduced to Rachel's mother, and Michael sized up the situation. Rachel's father, whom Michael had never met, had not joined in the raiding party: he was very ill in bed: he had never recovered, it seemed, from the shock of losing his elder daughter Anne, who had committed suicide a year or two earlier. But many of the farm-hands had indeed joined the party. Stories about the 'giant spiders' were rife, and everyone around was very nervous. Rachel and her mother were left to manage what was left of the farm almost on their own, besides having to care for Rachel's sick father. Not surprisingly, most of their crops were unharvested, although it was now late summer. Many of their livestock had died.

It was clear that Rachel's mother welcomed Michael and Sophie, and desperately wanted them to stay to help out with the farm—Michael especially. It was equally clear to Michael that he must carry out his original plan to carry Rachel away with him—to wherever? How could he explain these things to Rachel's mother?

He had no need. Rachel's mother looked at him curiously for a few minutes. Then she said, "you're one of _them_, aren't you?"

Michael made no reply.

"One of _them_, I mean—like Rachel here—like David, and Rosalind, and Petra..."

"You know?" Michael stammered at last.

"I've known for some time. I think I could almost read Rachel's mind, myself. But I'm not one of _you_, mind. I could just sense that she was getting news from you, all the time you weren't here."

"Does Rachel's father know?"

"I don't think he does. He's very poorly: we don't expect him to live through the winter, and frankly it'll be a relief when he goes."

"So—you know that Rachel and I need to get away."

"Yes—I suspected as much. I wish it were otherwise, but I agree, you are still in danger here. Don't worry about me: I'm not about to tell anyone! They tell me old Strorm is dead: is that true?"

"Yes, it is." Joseph Strorm had been shot by his elder brother Gordon, at the height of the battle in the Fringes.

"I knew he had disappeared along with many of the other men. With him gone, the community is falling apart. No-one seems to be doing much about Deviations at the moment. But it's still dangerous here."

"David, Rosalind and Petra are still alive. I can't tell you more than that, but they're safe."

No-one spoke for a long time. Rachel's mother set about placing a modest lunch before them: bacon and a few eggs, tomatoes and bread and butter. And a small pot of beer—the first they had tasted for weeks. All the time, Rachel's mother surveyed the newcomers intently without speaking.

Finally she looked at Sophie. "I don't quite see where you fit in to all this. I'm right in guessing, you're not one of _them_, am I?"

"No, I'm not," agreed Sophie. "Though I am now picking up some of their thoughts. My mother was the same: she could send David some of her thoughts, Mrs... er, Mrs?" and Sophie choked back a tear.

"Oh, call me Amelia, please! So—where do you come from?"

Instead of replying, Sophie pulled off one of her moccasins. Amelia gave it a very brief glance, and then nodded as Sophie replaced her moccasin.

"I guessed as much. As soon as I heard your name was Sophie, I remembered. What a hue and cry that was! How long ago was it? Seven years? Eight? The Wender family and their six-toed daughter. They vanished from here, but they were caught. And poor young David bore the brunt of it. His poor back! His sister Mary told me how he had suffered."

"Sophie suffered worse than he did," Michael remarked, simply.

"Of course. I'm glad you're here now, Sophie. You're welcome here, any time. Though we have little to offer."

Michael was reminded of something. "Mrs—er, Amelia, I really have to get across to my parents. They'll be worried sick."

"Don't worry about them. They're all right. As soon as I learnt you were here, I sent old Benjamin—he's just about our only remaining farm hand—across to their house to bring them the news. He's taking a message that you'll call on them tomorrow. So relax. But, Michael," and Amelia lifted a warning finger, "don't tell them as much as you've told me. I know your parents, I know they're decent folk—but I'm not sure you should be spreading it around too freely. Not even with old Strorm gone. The Inspector is still around..."

They spent the rest of the day organising sleeping arrangements. Sophie was to share Rachel's bedroom, while Michael was to sleep in Anne's old bedroom. He felt a bit uncomfortable about this, remembering how Anne had almost betrayed them and then met her tragic death—but there was no alternative.

Michael was so worn out, now, that he fell straight onto his bed and fell sound asleep. When he woke up, it was dark, and Rachel was standing by his bed wearing a nightgown.

"_No words,"_ she said briefly in thought-shapes. She sat down on the end of the bed and was silent for a few minutes. Michael knew something was about to come out. He lay there, waiting.

"_Michael, I know all about it. About you and Sophie—in the farmhouse..."_

Michael could not even reply in thought-shapes. He was struck dumb.

"_You silly boy!"_ she continued. "_Did you __**really**__ imagine you could keep an emotional experience like that to yourself? I knew even before Sophie told me..."_

"_She **told** you?"_

"_Of course she told me. She told me everything. The wash-tub, and all. Something about wanting you to 'experience' her 'becoming a woman'. What she meant by that, I wasn't sure. But Michael, I'm pleased. Really I am. Not a bit angry. Oh Michael!—I so much wanted you, but I didn't want us both to be virgins when we finally came together. It's so much better this way. I love you and I know you love me—really."_

"_Oh, Rachel! Of course I do!"_

"_But not yet, Michael. I want us to be really ready. I want us to get married. In a church. Not here. In Kentak, perhaps..."_

She lay down next to him, but kept her nightdress on. He kissed her briefly but passionately, and she kissed him back; but then she rolled over and they both fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

When Michael woke up next morning, he was alone. He felt a great sense of calm and relief come over him. Sophie was—fun. But he understood now that she didn't want it to continue, and nor did he. They were both very young, and so different in so many ways—but they had one thing in common: they were both very practical-minded. He was sure Sophie would make out somehow, and that they would remain—good friends.

But Rachel! Whether he'd known before that it was inevitable that he and Rachel would marry, he was unsure. But he was sure now. It seemed to have been pre-ordained the moment David, Rosalind and Petra fled. Maybe even before, but that act had consolidated the feeling.

Meanwhile, there was work to do today. Michael had to go to his parents. How they would receive him he was not sure, but, compared to other Waknuk residents, they were fairly broad-minded. He hoped it would be all right. He also had to find out what had happened to Sally and Katherine: the two girls—not sisters—from neighbouring farms, who had been captured, tortured and possibly murdered. And, if possible, Mark, some distance away, who had simply 'stopped'.

He went into the kitchen. Breakfast was set out, and Rachel and Sophie were already there, and both were grinning at him strangely. _"There's a surprise for you,"_ whispered Rachel in thought-shapes, just as Amelia walked in, leading a young man whom Michael thought he recognised. It took a moment to realise...

"_Mark! Oh, Mark, you're safe!"_ Michael choked back his tears.

"Speak in words please," cut in Amelia. "Remember Sophie and me: we want to hear too."

"Mark!" Michael continued in words. "What on earth happened to you? We all thought you were dead."

"Well, I very nearly was," replied Mark, matter-of-factly. "I was struck down by a fever. A very unpleasant fever: I was delirious for three days. I don't remember much about that. I think my people thought I _was_ dying. But on the third day the fever broke and the doctor said I would pull through. Some sort of brain-fever, I think he said it was. He wasn't sure if it would permanently affect my mind...

"One thing it _did_ affect, though. I just couldn't send thought-shapes any more. It was so frustrating. I could hear Rachel trying to sound me out—very faintly, much fainter than before: but I couldn't get through to her. I sensed her communicating to you, Michael; I couldn't make it all out, but she seemed to be saying I must have had an 'accident'. I couldn't hear your response.

"So I thought it was best to get to Rachel's house as quickly as possible, to reassure her and the rest of you. It was a long time before I felt fit enough to travel, and of course my mother wanted me to stay in bed. But this morning, when I got up early, I felt I was fit enough, so I left a note for my mother (I hope she won't be angry), borrowed one of the horses, and here I am!"

"Can you send thought-shapes now?" asked Michael. And in thought shapes, _"Did you hear that?"_

In response Mark sent a very faint _"yes—just about"_. His power was beginning to come back. But clearly he could not transmit over more than a few yards. "I'll have to work on it," he said ruefully, in words.

"First Sophie, and now Mark," Michael muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Surely the good news isn't going to last out." And aloud: "I'm so delighted to see you Mark. But now I really must leave and get to my parents as soon as possible. And then there's Sally and Katherine..."

"I've not heard anything more about them," said Mark. Rachel nodded. "But don't hold out too much hope."

"Before you go," said Amelia. "There's something I ought to say. Sophie. You're not safe, in this district, with that name. People have long memories. As I have. You might fall under suspicion. In fact, it's certain people will suspect. Have you thought about this?"

Sophie had to admit, that she had not.

"Well, can we call you Stephanie? I used to have a younger sister called Stephanie: she died when she was only a little girl. It would be a comfort to me to have a Stephanie in the house, once more. If you'll agree to stay with me for a while. Especially after Rachel gets married..." Michael gave a start. "Yes, Michael, Rachel's told me. Yes, you're both very young, but you're both very sensible too. I'm delighted for you both.."

For Amelia to say that, remembering the trauma of her elder daughter Anne's disastrous marriage to Alan less than a year earlier, must have taken some courage. Michael was impressed—but he understood.

Rachel said, without ceremony: "I'm coming with you, Michael. At least as far as your parents. But Sophie (not 'Sophie'! 'Stephanie') should stay here though. It's still not safe for her. And I'm not coming beyond there, to investigate Sally's and Katherine's places. It's not safe for both of us to turn up. You can always pretend that you're an old friend of one of them—boy-friend, even. For me it's more difficult.

"And besides, I have to go up and see Father first. He doesn't even know we're here yet. No, Michael, you stay here. I'm not going to tell him about you—or Stephanie. But I always go up to him, every day, to sit with him for about an hour. He's barely responsive, but he knows I'm there—and he'll know if I'm not. Will you wait that long?"

"Of course," said Michael. And he sat down in the kitchen whilst Rachel disappeared towards her parents' bedroom.

Amelia busied herself in the kitchen, but she had time to chat to Michael. He asked about Waknuk.

"Keep clear of there, Michael. There's bad blood—and things are no better since Joseph went. Emily (that's Joseph's wife, you may remember)—Emily isn't herself any more. Obviously distraught at losing two of her children, and then her husband who went off without a word—well, without a good word, that is. She's not in her right mind any more. She has to be looked after, has panic attacks, that sort of thing. Her daughters Mary and Sarah are practically running the farm on their own.

"And I've heard that that neighbour of theirs, Angus Morton has put in an offer to buy the farm. Knowing his former hatred of Strorm, I expect he'll be putting in the lowest possible price he can get away with! Mary and Sarah are resisting his offer for now, but how long can they last out. Morton isn't to be trusted either—he's been in a foul mood for quite a while. He thinks David kidnapped his daughter, not to mention stealing his precious great-horses—but from what you've told me, it seems to have been the other way around..."

Michael was suddenly reminded of the urgent question he'd meant to ask before. "Amelia, do you remember an old man who used to work on the farm? 'Uncle Axel' David used to call him?"

"Oh, him," Amelia replied. "Yes I remember him. He's not there any more. I believe he vanished on the very day after David, Petra and Rosalind ran off. Possibly to save his own life: there were rumours that Strorm suspected him of tipping off the children. Anyway, he stole a horse and he's gone..."

Michael was shattered at this piece of news. He knew that if Rachel and he were ever to carry out their plan of escaping from Labrador altogether, they would need to cross the sea—and Uncle Axel was the one person he could think of who could give advice about sea-crossings. Now he was lost to them. "Have you any idea which way he might have gone?" he asked.

"No-one really knows, but my guess is he went back to his old haunts in Rigo. After all he's a seafaring man, and he'll have friends there. People who can shelter him—if Waknuk folk ever go searching for him. Though I think that's most unlikely..."

Not entirely hopeless, thought Michael. They would almost certainly have to pass through Rigo themselves, and they could make enquiries for him there. But failing that, he realised, they ought to be able to sound out other seafarers...

While he was pondering this, Rachel returned. "Father's just the same," she whispered to Amelia. "Said 'Hello Rachel' very faintly, but then not a word..." And then to Michael, "Are you ready then? I thought we would go on foot: it's not far and Mother can't really spare two horses."

Michael agreed. In a few minutes they had set out. They walked in silence for about half an hour. Then suddenly, Rachel said, in words:

"I think Mark's got an eye on Sophie—Stephanie! I was watching them this morning. Do you think there's anything in it?"

The memory of his all-too-recent night of passion with Sophie flashed through his mind, but Michael quickly dismissed it. Things had moved on. "I'm not sure," he said.

"Nor am I. I think Stephanie shouldn't settle on one man so quickly. I don't think she cares for him anyway. I think she wants to find a 'normal' man—one without thought-shapes, that is—anyway."

"We'll have to wait and see."

They lapsed into silence once more.

When they were within sight of Michael's house, Rachel broke in, again in words:

"Michael, I don't think I want to go to the Sealand country."

"Zealand, you mean. I rather expected you to say that. I don't want to go either. Of course, it'd be really sad not to see David, Rosalind, and Petra again. I promised I'd come after them, and I hate having to break a promise. Perhaps we can write to them? But that place! So many people, all thought-shaping each other—I'm scared of it, of what it can do to people..."

"Where do you think we should go? After we're married, of course?"

"I haven't really thought it through. Out of Labrador, at any rate. Which means taking ship somehow." And he explained about Uncle Axel's disappearance. Rachel had heard something about that, but she hadn't known about his seafaring history.

"What other places might there be? Places that aren't all Badlands, that is?"

"Well, we learnt a bit about the old countries at school. There was somewhere across the sea called 'Europe', and somewhere called 'Africa'. Information was very sketchy. You have to go east or south-east to get to them. I've no idea whether they're habitable, or whether anyone from Labrador has visited them. David told me that Uncle Axel had told him, no-one had. In fact, he didn't believe there were such places."

"We must find out, Michael! There must be somewhere there we can live. It can't all be like Labrador!"

Buoyed up by Rachel's optimism, they continued in silence to Michael's house.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Michael's parents were delighted to see him, but they did not go into ecstatic raptures about his return. They greeted Rachel cordially, but did not question her—not yet. Rachel realised that they were quite used to Michael going off on trips for several days—hunting and the like. To them, this was just him returning from yet another trip—albeit rather longer than usual.

And they wanted to know what had happened to others on the raiding party which he had joined.

Michael had to think up a few lies, and pretty quickly and off-the-cuff. He did not dare to tell his parents the truth. He said that his horse had gone lame, and that he had fallen behind. Eventually he had lost track of the others, so he decided to turn back. When he was already within sight of Waknuk, the poor beast was in such a poor condition that he decided he had to shoot it (that part of his story, at least, was true!). So he walked as far as Rachel's house, seeing as she was an old friend of his and it was nearer than his home. After he had rested for a while, Rachel insisted on coming on with him.

"And there's something else we need to tell you. Rachel and I are going to get married..."

Rachel hadn't expected that announcement so soon, she was confused and she blushed prettily. Michael's mother smiled, but his father looked at him, questioningly, for a long time.

"Come with me into my study, Michael." he said. "I'm sure my wife will have much to say to Rachel..."

Once seated comfortably in the study, Michael's father began:

"Well Michael: this is all very sudden—and quite a surprise. Have you known Rachel for long?"

"Quite a few years now. I think we met at one of the village parties, and we've been seeing each other on and off since then."

"So you remember her sister, then?"

Michael was caught off-guard, but he recovered himself quickly. "I didn't really know her. She was a lot older than us..."

"Not that much older. So you must know all about her marriage—the calamity in which it all ended, for both of them?"

"Yes of course I know about that. Tragic case."

"Tragic indeed. I must confess, I find it surprising that less than a year after that dreadful affair, Rachel is suddenly so keen to get married...?"

"I find it surprising too, Father. But Rachel is absolutely determined. She knew what that Alan Ervin person was like, the life he led Anne for the brief time they were together. I think she believes me to be the exact opposite. Who can tell what are in a woman's thoughts?" (Michael smiled to himself, privately, at that!) "All I know is that I love her, and she loves me.."

"I can see already that she's a far more sensible, more composed person than her sister was. Your mother, I'm sure, will even now be finding out a lot more! And I'm sure you are just the man to look after her. But I still think you should back off for a few years. You are both still very young. Under-age."

"Does this mean you're not going to give us permission, Father?"

"What does Rachel's father say about it?"

"I don't know. The man is very sick, I haven't even met him yet."

"That settles it, then, Michael. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but my answer is No."

Michael knew he could not argue the case. Once Father had made up his mind about something, there was no gainsaying.

They went back to the living room. Rachel was there, and Michael's mother. She glanced at her husband, then they tactfully withdrew, leaving Michael and Rachel alone together.

"He said no, didn't he," said Rachel, in words. Michael nodded. "I knew he would," she continued. "I could see it in his eyes. Your mother has been giving me a hard time, too. Lots of questions about Anne. This was difficult for me! I had to be very careful not to give the game away. I just said, I'd told Anne I didn't like Alan, that I thought he was a brute, that we'd quarrelled about it, then she'd refused to talk to me any more. Did you know that there were bruises found on Anne's body when she was found—bruises that couldn't have been caused by her hanging?"

"No, I did not," replied Michael.

"Well, there were. I believe my parents tried to hush that fact up. But they were there. I found the body—remember?"

"Wouldn't the doctor have reported them?"

"I think he tried to, but my parents begged him not to. Anyway, that's all in the past now. Please let's not talk about it any more. It still upsets me."

"What are we going to do then? I'm twenty, as you know. I'll be twenty-one early next year. But you're only just turned seventeen. It's a long time to wait."

"I don't know. But the first thing you need to do is check out Sally's and Katherine's houses. Ask your father for a horse. Just say, you need to go out for a while to think things over, you want some space for yourself. He'll understand, believe me."

Michael's father was true to Rachel's expectations. He was a kindly man, when he wasn't being firm about his decisions. He said, of course Michael was upset, of course he needed time alone. And if he wanted a horse, of course he could have a horse. Meanwhile, if Rachel didn't want to go with him, she was welcome to stay with them until his return. He should return before nightfall.

So Michael set off. On horseback, it took him only about quarter of an hour to reach Katherine's farm, which was the nearer—but before he was three-quarters of the way there, he knew his mission was in vain. The whole farm had been burnt to the ground: not just the barn, like with the farm in the Wild Country, where he and Sophie... no matter. Here, the entire farmhouse had been gutted, absolutely nothing was left, just a few embers not even smoking. There was no-one about.

Michael searched around for a while, all the while keeping a careful lookout in case someone spotted him. He found nothing.

So he turned his horse towards Sally's farmhouse, about half a mile further on. To his relief, that one seemed to be intact. And there were people working there. As he approached the gate, a farm-hand hailed him. A short, stocky young man, with long straw-coloured hair tied up in a pony-tail. He thought he recognised him from a previous visit, but the farm-hand did not appear to recognise him—luckily.

"Hello," said Michael. "I'm looking for someone called Sally. I believe she used to live here."

"Don't know anyone of that name, sorry chum."

"But she was living here only a short time ago."

"As I said, no-one of that name's lived here in my time, and I've been here five years. Now, if you haven't got any business here, clear off. I've got work to do."

Michael knew it was useless to pursue the matter further, and that he may have already aroused suspicion. Supposing the unfriendly farm-hand reported his questioning to the farm owner—or to the Inspector? He realised how dangerous this mission of his was. Apologising, he beat a hasty retreat and went straight back to his own house.

His parents were surprised to see him back so early, but knew better than to ask him questions. Michael asked if he could accompany Rachel back to her own house, and they at once agreed. It was obvious that Father, after giving his firm refusal to their marriage, was going out of his way to be generous and helpful to them. He said, Michael could stop the night at Rachel's house, but he'd expect him back tomorrow.

After a quick lunch, Michael and Rachel set off on foot. They had not used thought-shapes since they left Rachel's house that morning, and all the time they were at Michael's house, and of course Rachel hadn't dared to ask him about Sally and Katherine in the presence of his parents, but now she broke in: _"It's bad news, isn't it?"_

"_I'm afraid so,"_ replied Michael, and he related all that he had discovered.

"_Do you think there's any chance they're still alive?"_ asked Rachel.

"_They could be. I saw no sign of any bodies at Katherine's—but then I didn't expect to. We can still hope. But we've no clue as to where to search."_

"_What are we going to do?"_

This, time, Michael was more sure of himself. He'd thought about this as he was riding back from Sally's. _"First of all, I'm going to tell my parents that I'm going to live in Kentak. They won't object to that. Well, I have to now: I may be a marked man: I don't trust that farm-hand. And remember, I went to school there: I have friends there whom I can stay with. No-one's going to follow me there. You stay with your mother and father for a few weeks—then I'll come and fetch you. Kentak is a big place, we can lose ourselves there. I won't directly disobey Father—I can't anyway—so the wedding will have to wait. That's as far as I've thought things out so far..."_

At Rachel's house, they found Stephanie hard at work in the kitchen, and Mark outside chopping wood. Mark greeted them with a cheery thought-shape _"Hi there!"_: his powers were evidently gradually returning to him. Inside, Stephanie greeted them warmly. "Your mother's with your father at the moment, Rachel. I'm afraid there's not much change with him. And she's agreed, I'm free to stay here for the time being. I'd like that. She can't afford me wages but I'll get bed and board. Mark's going to stay on too—but he'll be going back to his mother at weekends."

"I'm going to stay on here for a while, too," said Rachel.

"Excellent! I was hoping you would. Have you noticed, Mark's already trying to score on me? You have? I thought you would. It's not that I don't like him, he's a nice lad—but I think I'm not ready for this, and not with him. I'm glad you'll be around as a sort of chaperone."

That evening, Michael and Rachel once again retreated to Anne's former bedroom. Rachel stripped down to her petticoat, but not further. _"Remember me like this, until we next meet. But no more!"_ she murmured, as he kissed her. _"We have to get married, however long it takes."_ Michael knew that she would stick to her word.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

In Kentak, Michael had found two of his old school-friends, without difficulty, and it was his great fortune that they had just rented a flat and were looking for a third to share the rent. Michael gladly accepted, and being handy with tools he soon found work as a carpenter. He communicated with Rachel daily, but at her suggestion they only used thought-shapes at night, when they were both in bed. He also wrote her frequent letters—pointless perhaps, but only to allay suspicion. Rachel reported that Mark was still making eyes at Stephanie, but making little progress: she was firm in her resolve that "he was a nice boy" and that was that. Since she was still sharing Rachel's room, whilst Mark, when he slept over, was in Anne's old room, he couldn't press things any further, even if she'd let him.

Michael only visited Waknuk occasionally: it would seem odd if he didn't. His parents seemed reconciled to the fact that he was regularly seeing Rachel. It seemed that, having refused to allow the marriage mainly to protect Rachel from possible harm, his father was now softening his stance. But Michael did not plan to disobey him, not unless...

In November came the sad news that Rachel's father had finally passed away. Amelia was philosophical about it: she said that he had been a fine man until cruelly struck down by his elder daughter's death, and his passing was a 'release'—that was the word she used. Michael agreed to come over at once for the funeral, and his parents came too. Mark was still helping out at the farm, and enjoying his work, having perhaps accepted the fact that Stephanie wasn't to be his.

Stephanie's attractiveness had blossomed in the meantime: there was little of the Fringes coarseness left in her features, indeed she was now living up to her promise of turning into a little beauty. Several of the local young men had indeed noticed her, but she repulsed them all with quiet tact. What she proposed to do for herself in the future, it was hard to tell. When he saw her again, Michael was astonished at the change in her. He remembered how she had said, at the Wild Country farm, that _"I want to find a man who can love me for what I am: a man somewhere in Labrador"._ Well, clearly none of the men who had approached her, so far, fit the criteria for that man. She could indeed afford to be choosy...

Also at the funeral were Mary and Sarah, David's elder sisters, and Angus Morton and his wife and sons. Michael took care to avoid them, especially Angus, but since he was there with his parents, he though he would be able to avoid suspicion. However he was not quite careful enough. As he was leaving Waknuk church (the service having been conducted by a visiting preacher), Mary accosted him and drew him to one side.

"You're Michael, aren't you," she whispered. "You were in the raiding party that went after David and Petra."

Michael said nothing.

"I know my father's dead. He would have got in touch by now. I know many others are also dead. What I want to know is, _are David and Petra safe?_"

She said this with such urgency that Michael realised that she must know some of the truth. He nodded, but Mary repeated, even more urgently, _"Are they safe?"_

"Yes they are," Michael said at last. "I can't say more than that, but I know they're alive. Also Rosalind."

"I just needed to know. I was so fond of David—and Petra. I guessed you were linked up with them somehow. Don't worry Michael; your secret is safe with me. But don't trust anyone else—not even my sister, and certainly not the Mortons. Anyway, I'm getting married soon, and leaving all this far behind: we're moving to another part of Labrador, more than a hundred miles off. Sarah will stay behind and sell the farm to Morton: I don't know what her plans are after that..."

At that moment she saw Michael's parents approaching, so she hurriedly shook his hand and moved on.

That was encouraging, he thought. Another ally—at least, another one who didn't seem about to drag him off to the Inspector. But she wasn't going to be there much longer. He wished he'd been able to ask her more—about the state of affairs in Waknuk. As far as he could tell, the very public humiliations: the field-burnings, the communal prayers before slaughter of livestock, that sort if thing, it seemed to have stopped—or at least been toned down. What was happening behind the scenes, though, he did not know—although he feared the worst. He wondered whether there was any change in what happened to Blasphemies—Human deviations—but was afraid to ask.

Should he and Rachel try to make a life of it here in Waknuk, after all? Much would depend on the plans of the others in Rachel's house, Amelia especially, now that the burden of Rachel's father had been taken from them.

He also remembered what David had told him. Rosalind's mother had _actually helped Rosalind to pack up_ for their flight. She must have known. Perhaps she was another ally? He did not know her, but he carefully shot a glance at Angus Morton who was standing some distance away. Next to him was a slight, timid-looking woman, evidently in fear of her husband. He guessed that was her. She had not seen him. He turned away.

He stiffened. At the opposite edge of the crowd of mourners, he spotted a familiar face. Crowned by a shock of yellow hair, tied in a pony-tail. And _next to him was the Inspector_.

Michael did not lose an instant. He thanked Providence that he had spotted the two of them before they spotted him. Ducking under the arm of his astonished father, he ran towards Rachel where she was standing with Amelia, greeting the mourners as they filed past.

"_Rachel, we must get away. Now!"_

Rachel did not even bother to send a thought-shape. She whispered quickly: "Sorry, Mother. Emergency," and ran with Michael back to their house. It was empty: both Mark and Stephanie were at the funeral. Rachel scribbled a quick note "Sorry Mother, will try to explain later. Please forgive us for taking the horse." Then as quickly as possible, they packed some saddlebags and saddled both Michael's horse, which he had ridden from Kentak, and one of Amelia's in the stable. Rachel quickly swapped her funereal black skirt for a pair of trousers. Then they mounted and were on their way.

They did not speak nor even exchange thought-shapes until they were nearly halfway to Kentak. By now they thought they were safe from immediate pursuit. They reined in their horses, which were very tired, and took stock in thought-shapes.

"_You saw someone at the funeral. Who was it?"_

"_That young farm-hand I met at Sally's house. I should never have gone there. You remember: the one who told me to clear off. I'd hoped he'd forgotten all about it. He hadn't. __**He was with the Inspector.**__ And they were searching around all the faces."_

"_My god! Then it's started, hasn't it. Where can we go?"_

"_Kentak, to start with. I think my flatmates there are trustworthy, for now. And all my money is there: we're going to need it. But we shan't be able to stay long. It looks like Labrador isn't safe for us after all."_

"_Michael, whatever the danger, I'll never leave you."_

"_I was hoping you'd say that. You know, you weren't under suspicion. No-one saw you at Sally's house. It's I who am putting you in danger. But I'm very glad you're with me."_

It was now getting dark. Leading their horses a mile further along the road, they came to a place where there was a strip of gravel beside the road. Crossing that, they quickly led their horses in amongst the trees, hoping that their hoof-prints would not be noticed during the night. Then they collected some grass and ferns and made a sort of bivouac in which they could pass the night.

Next morning, mercifully without disturbance, they re-mounted and continued on their way, as quickly as they could, but their horses were still tired, so progress was slow. They hoped that, if any pursuit was to come, it would take time to get organised. Rachel's sudden flight from the house of mourning, that could easily place her under suspicion, but he hoped that Amelia would somehow cover for her. Struck by a thought, he put out a thought strongly, hoping to contact Mark. Mark responded, very faintly, and Michael quickly explained the situation.

"_It's all right,"_ replied Mark. _"Yes, everyone came back to the house, but Amelia put out the word that Rachel was in tears, had gone to her bedroom, and didn't want to be disturbed. Stephanie, bless her, supported the story, popping in and out of the bedroom with hot drinks. I think everyone believed us. It'll be some days before her absence is noticed."_

"_What do you plan to do? Once Rachel's absence is noticed, it'll cast suspicion on you. And maybe Stephanie."_

"_I don't know, but Amelia says she plans to sell the farm. She has a sister some miles off who she thinks will take her in, now Rachel's father is gone. We may have to shift sooner than that..."_

"_You and Stephanie?"_

"_Yes. Don't worry Michael. There's nothing between us: it was just a boyish impulse. She still likes me, and I like her—as friends."_

"_Will you come after us? To Kentak?"_

"_Possibly."_

"_We may be gone, but I'll try to keep in touch—wherever we go on to. Try to stay in range." _


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Rachel had never seen a town as large as Kentak. The number of people going to and fro in the crowded streets, the horses and carts criss-crossing everywhere, the shops selling every imaginable kind of produce, the saloons with their swing doors and welcoming beery atmosphere—at the upper end of the town, by the lakeside, the splendid mansions, all immaculately whitewashed, housing families whose wealth she could only dream of—and at the other end of the town the dingy terraces with filth in the streets and beggars squatting in doorways...

And if they ever made it to Rigo, the capital of Labrador, hundreds of miles to the east, that would be a city ten times the size of this one. Maybe with ten times as many beggars...

It was lucky she had Michael with her. She would have been lost in a few minutes without him. He at least was familiar with the bewildering network of streets, and hustled her quickly past the slums and into more civilised quarters.

"That's my old school, over there," as he pointed out an imposing building. He was speaking in words, because amongst the crowds of people it seemed more natural—and safer. "But we won't go too close: I don't want to be recognised. We're going to my flat to collect up a few things. I'll need to call in at the carpenter's shop and turn my job in. If I don't, that'll lead to more suspicion. I'll think of some excuse.

"I think we can stay at the flat one night, maybe two. But we must be ready to flee at a moment's notice. It'll take some time for the pursuit, if there is one, to get organised—but when it is, Kentak is one of the places they'll look. I'm sorry I can't show you more of Kentak—there are some really nice parts, especially round the lake. But there'll be more to see on the journey. Luckily I've got a fair bit of money saved up: we need to buy a cart. And at least one fresh horse."

They got to Michael's flat without trouble, and found both of his flatmates in. Michael quickly retrieved his store of money, and explained that he and Rachel would have to leave in a hurry – probably for good. He paid them the balance of that month's rent. Luckily, they didn't ask any awkward questions. Kentak was full of people 'on the move', for various reasons, and they must have assumed it was something to do with him and Rachel—an elopement, perhaps.

Which was not far from the truth.

They then went in search of a horse and cart, but in that they were less lucky. No-one in the town was willing to sell. It seemed that, although Kentak was not directly involved in the turmoil that had engulfed Waknuk and surrounding district, many people there were alarmed and were preparing to flee themselves—east. Whatever the reason, no horse nor cart was available, for love or money.

"We haven't searched all the town," said Michael, "and it's getting late. We'll try again tomorrow."

Suddenly, Rachel tugged at his arm. They were passing a small, run-down church and she drew him towards the door, which was not locked, and then pulled him inside.

"What are we doing in here?" asked Michael. The church was completely deserted.

"Getting married, of course!"

"What!"

"Yes, getting married. Just you and me. We'll repeat the wedding vows to each other. OK: I know it won't be a 'legal' marriage: no priest, no witnesses, but it'll do for us. As far as I'm concerned, we'll be married. As far as your parents are concerned, we won't be. Both sides satisfied! I wanted to be 'properly' married in Kentak, but since there's no time for that..."

"And the ring...?"

"I found this in the street," explained Rachel, holding up a small steel washer which just happened to fit over her middle finger. "Of course, I can't really wear it all the time, it's the wrong shape—but I'll carry it. And maybe we can get it shaped into a proper ring, later..."

Michael was still bemused, but he acquiesced. "Do you know the wedding vows?"

"Pretty much. Some of it anyway: the important bits. I remember them from Anne's wedding. Come on now. _'Will you, Michael Anthony, take me, Rachel Naomi, to be your lawful wedded wife?'_"

"I will."

"Now you ask me the same."

"OK. _'Will you, Rachel Naomi, take me, Michael Anthony, to be your lawful wedded husband?'_"

"I will. Now together please: _'We now pronounce ourselves man and wife'_"

After Michael had repeated the words, he said "this is all highly irregular. We can't possibly say we're _legally_ married."

"I know, but it's good enough for me. Now let's get back to the flat before someone finds us..."

At the flat, Michael told his flatmates that Rachel and he had just secretly married. They laughed a bit, but congratulated both of them, and luckily didn't ask exactly _how_ they'd got married. Kentak was a big town. Then they sat down to a splendid meal, prepared by Michael's flatmates. Michael thanked them profusely for their help, explaining how his parents had been opposed to the marriage. They promised to cover for him if his parents came enquiring...

They sat talking well into the evening, mainly about the state of affairs in Kentak, and about Michael's schooldays there. Rachel learnt a lot. Despite Michael having been in contact with her and the others during his schooling, there was much he hadn't told them! Rachel was highly amused to learn about some of the pranks he and his friends had got into. She made a mental note to pass the stories on to Mark, if they ever got in touch—at present Mark was out of range.

Finally Michael's flatmates retired to their bedrooms, leaving Rachel and Michael alone. _"Don't forget this is our wedding night,"_ said Rachel, this time in thought-shapes, as she led Michael into their bedroom. Michael had half been expecting this, but even so, as he followed her, he was consumed by shyness. And this time, Rachel seemed rather shy and uncertain too. She undressed down to her petticoat, as she had done before in Waknuk, then stood there, uncertain what to do next.

At length Michael took the initiative. Quickly stripping off his clothes, he stood there facing Rachel as she fiddled with the buttons of her petticoat. Finally she slipped it off herself, then Michael took a hand and gently relieved her of her undergarments...

"Oh Michael! Please be gentle with me!" she murmured as he slipped into bed beside her. It was hard for Michael to comply with that request, but he did his best and was rewarded when her moans were replaced by squeals of pleasure at the end...

They had been asleep in each others' arms for perhaps three hours when they were suddenly wakened by a loud knocking at the front door. They clutched each other, terrified.

"Open up!" they heard a loud rough voice calling, and then the knocking resumed. Michael and Rachel leapt out of bed and dressed as quickly as they could. Fortunately their packs were ready and the horses were saddled and hitched outside the back window, ready for an instant getaway. As they clambered out of the window and dropped the short distance to the ground, they could hear one of their flatmates answering the door.

"We're coming in. We're looking for a couple of fugitives. A man and a woman. Blasphemies."

"Blasphemies? Here? What on earth are you on about?"

"You heard us. Blasphemies. Now stand aside please."

"There are no fugitives of any sort here, let alone Blasphemies. And you can't come in without a warrant."

"We don't need a warrant if we're searching for Blasphemies. Now will you please stand aside."

There was the sound of a scuffle, but by this time Michael and Rachel had untied the horses. Hoping that the noise at the front door would mask the sound of the horses' hooves, they led them carefully across the back yard and out through the gate into the alley. Then they mounted and rode gingerly away.

Once on the main road, they urged their horses to a full gallop and surged out of the town on the east road, towards Rigo.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"_It won't take long before they discover we've gone,"_ said Michael in thought-shapes. _"And they'll expect us to take this road. But don't worry, I have a plan, if we can hold out for the next two miles. I just hope my friends are OK. It was very brave of them."_

They soon heard horses' hooves some distance behind them, but they did not seem to be gaining on them yet. But that would not last—their horses would tire before their pursuers'. He was desperately looking for a spot he had discovered years before, during his schooldays, somewhere where he knew they could safely turn off the road. Fortunately there was a full moon.

At length he pulled up his horse. Rippling across the road was a narrow stream flowing over a bed of stones and gravel. Quickly he turned his horse to the left and picked his way carefully along the stream bed, urging Rachel to do the same. In a minute they were out of sight of the road. They stopped.

"_With any luck they won't have seen where we left the road: the stream will have covered our hoof-prints. And also there are so many other hoof-prints on the road, that they won't guess that we've turned aside here."_

They were in luck. In a few minutes they heard the sound of several horses galloping towards the stream, then splashing across it and continuing along the road.

"_But where do we go from here?"_

"_Not back to the road, that's for sure. They're sure to realise they've lost us, before long, then they'll turn back. We need to steer to the north—or at any rate to the north-east. The land is less populated in that direction, and there are fewer roads." _This was the kind of travel more suited to Michael—more like his expedition to the Fringes, all those months ago. But the going would be tough: winter was fast approaching and there was every chance of snow. That would be a serious problem for them: their hoof-prints would not be clearer if they'd been cast in stone. And the distance was daunting. It was a full 300 miles from Kentak to Rigo by the road, but for them it would be more like 400. On poor tracks and in poor weather, it could well take them at least two months...

For the present, they picked their way along a narrow stony track. Luckily their horses' hooves made little mark. Michael was hopeful that they had thrown off the pursuit, for now. There was plenty of water, in the form of streams crossing the track, but Michael was beginning to worry about how they would manage for food. Although they had started with full packs, that would soon be exhausted. Also they would need warmer clothes.

At least they seemed to be safe from pursuit for now. So now Michael had time to reflect. Rachel seemed to be reflecting, too. She it was who came up with the obvious question, in thought-shapes:

"_How did they know we were at that flat? What brought them there so quickly?"_

"_I wish I knew,"_ replied Michael. _"They must have guessed that we were making for Kentak. Maybe that farm-boy was able to point me out to the Inspector after all. If so, why didn't they act there and then—at Waknuk church?"_

"_I think they were afraid to,"_ put in Rachel. _"Amongst all that crowd of people—and remember the Inspector doesn't stand in as good stead there as in the days of Strorm. Many folk in Waknuk seem to be—well if not exactly rebelling—in doubt about the Purity laws. It's possible that if he'd come straight at you, he'd have been lynched..."_

"_Well, it didn't take them long to get on the chase. How they found the flat is anyone's guess. Perhaps, once they'd got my name, they asked at the school. They could have found out who my friends are. Oh! I'm hoping they're all right. But for now, I'm hoping we can get far, far away before they pick up the trail. But I'm not going to deceive you: this is extremely dangerous even without pursuit. We are going well away from the road. There are few townships where we're going. There may be wild beasts—not only Deviations—but other animals: bears. And if we don't find food soon, we shall starve. Will you be able to face that?"_

"_Michael, if we're facing death, I want to face it with you. If we die, we die together."_

Michael could think of nothing to say to that.

It was still dark, and the moon was setting. They decided to make camp, where they were, for what was left of the night. It would be madness to try and pick their way along the trail in pitch-darkness. They had brought blankets, but the night was still bitterly cold. They huddled together in their clothes, for warmth.

"Not much of a wedding night, is it?" said Michael, in words.

They had had little sleep when dawn finally broke.

Michael rose first. Now that it was day, he decided to explore a bit around their camp. About a hundred yards off, he found a fairly deep rock pool. Testing the water, he found to his surprise that it was slightly warm. Every other stream and pool they'd passed had been bitterly cold. He guessed that this one must be fed from underground by a hot spring. Enthusiastically, he stripped off his clothes and plunged into the water.

As he came up for air the second time, he saw Rachel at the poolside. She too had stripped off, and she plunged in to join him. Laughing, they came together in the middle of the pool and hugged one another.

"We could resume our wedding night here, couldn't we?" said Rachel, in words, coyly.

"It's not night any more," said Michael, unable to avoid being reminded of the early-morning romp in the washtub, with—with Stephanie. He was a bit reluctant, but Rachel was determined. He was delighted to yield, this time. Afterwards, having dried himself and dressed quickly, he surveyed the narrow trail that they were following.

It seemed to have been little used, but it was quite distinct, winding its way amongst the terrain that was getting steadily more rocky, with many streams and pools. They resolved to follow it as far as it would take them. But before they set out, they had an urgent task to perform, as Rachel reminded Michael.

Rachel volunteered to have first go, this time. Putting out all her strength, she issued the thought-shape: _"Mark? Are you there?"_

Nothing.

Then Michael had a try. Same result.

"What do you suppose? Shouldn't they have reached Kentak by now?" said Rachel in words.

"If they have, they should be in range. We're still only a few miles from Kentak, even now."

"Oh dear!" cried Rachel, and burst into tears—the first that Michael had seen her shed. He remembered how she thought she'd lost Mark, all those months ago, when he had simply ceased to communicate. But he had come back. Nevertheless, was her earlier premonition now coming true...? He could only put his arm around her, lamely remind her that they still had each other, and still had a dangerous journey to undertake: together. Mark—and Stephanie, if she was still with him—would have to look after themselves.

"Rachel. They might simply be asleep," he finally came out with. Rachel checked her sobs, and threw her arms round his neck.

"Sorry. Sorry! I'm such a fool. I shouldn't have... It's just so like—so like after that—I was left so _alone_..." Her disjointed words seemed to confirm Michael's fears. She slipped into thought-shapes: _"Please forgive me: I was just thinking about that first time..."_

"_Of course," _Michael replied, soothingly. Then, in words, "Question is, what do we do? Wait for them another day, and risk the pursuers getting on to us—or press on?"

"Oh Michael! I'd love to stay here a while! That pool was so lovely! But..."

"We have to move on, Rachel. Even if it means losing contact with Mark for good. We'll give it an hour, then we'll move. It'll be some hours before we're out of range, if Mark has recovered at least most of his former strength. There's still a chance..."

They saddled the horses, which looked in better shape after their rest. Michael wondered how long they would last. What he wanted was to come to a village or township—somewhere where they could perhaps buy provisions—or more.

They picked their way slowly along the trail. There was still no word from Mark. They passed many streams and rock pools—some of them evidently warm, like the one they had bathed in, some even hotter, with curls of steam rising from them. They seemed to be passing through a region of volcanic activity; at any rate, they could avoid freezing whilst they were on this path! For the whole day the path wound its way across almost barren country, just a few scrub bushes, and they saw no-one. In the evening they sought out another warm pool and camped beside it for the night.

They continued like this for another four days. By now they had given up contacting Mark. Rachel was clearly still upset but managed to compose herself. On the fifth day they noticed a line ahead, cutting across their path. It appeared to be a road. They stopped a few hundred yards short of it.

"Wait here with the horses," said Michael, and stealthily approached the road. At the moment he could see no-one on it. He wished he had a map—but maps were hard to come by in Labrador, except in Rigo. He tried to recall what he had seen on the maps at the school, and with the sun shining, he took bearings as best he could. He returned to Rachel.

"I'm not certain, but I don't think this road leads back to Kentak. I don't remember the layout too clearly, but I think it heads west and a bit to the north—not the direction we've come from. And the other way, east, is definitely the way we want to go. If we meet people, they'll just assume we're ordinary travellers. Or so I hope."

The road, when they started upon it, seemed to be in a poorer state than the one they had taken from Kentak. It had lots of deep ruts and potholes; certainly if they had had a cart, they would have had some difficulty picking their way along it. This encouraged Michael: he said that, with luck, it would lead to less populous parts, but hopefully still to a village of some sort. They did pass several travellers on this road; mostly on horseback, a few on foot. They were ignored: clearly they were taken for just another pair of travellers.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

After a while the road entered a forest. They seemed by now to have left the volcanic area behind—and they were getting concerned about the lateness of the season. For some miles they picked their way amongst the trees, then they overtook an old lady who appeared to be carrying a large bundle of firewood. Encouraged by this, they decided to stop and ask the way.

"_Let me do this,"_ said Rachel, in thought shapes, as she dismounted. Going up to the woman, she asked, ingenuously, "Is this the road to Rigo?"

"Rigo? Rigo? Don't know any Rigo! No—wait! You mean _that_ Rigo? Out on the coast? Why, that's hundreds of miles away, my dear. Whatever can you be thinking of? You'll never make it there, not on those horses!"

"Yes, we know that. What we want to know is, is there a village near here? Somewhere where we can rest and buy provisions, perhaps?"

"Well, there's Charlak, a couple of miles down the road. Not exactly a 'village', just a few houses. I'm on my way there myself. It's where I live."

"Thanks ever so much. Oh, and can we carry your firewood for you?" Michael cut in. He had a little room in front of him on the saddle.

The woman considered for a while—then she handed over the bundle. "Why thank you, that's extremely kind of you, my dears. My house is second on the left as you enter the village. If you wait for me there, I'll fix you up with hot drinks and a cake..."

Very trusting, she was, Michael thought, as they continued to the village. The woman, whose name was Beth, they discovered, was as good as her word when she came up. Ushering them inside, she plied them with hot cocoa and a plate of cakes.

"So where have you come from? And how do you expect to get to Rigo?" Beth asked.

Michael thought a while before answering. He did not know the geography of this area, and he could not 'invent' a plausible starting-point for them. In the end he resolved upon truthfulness. He was still thinking he could trust this woman. "From Kentak," he finally admitted.

Beth noticed his hesitation, and smiled. "Kentak, eh? That's a long way back, and not on the road you were coming along. Did you cut across country?"

Michael nodded.

"I can guess—an elopement, is it? And your families are coming after you? You look very young; Rachel. How old are you?"

"Seventeen," admitted Rachel, "and yes, we've eloped. We even got married, secretly, in a church in Kentak. Here's the ring," and she fetched out the steel washer that she'd been carrying all along, and slipped it on her finger.

"Well! Ha ha! Funny sort of ring—but I believe you. And don't worry: your secret is safe with me: if any of your people come this way; I'll cover for you. And I'll tell you a secret," Beth continued. "I eloped too, just like you did, when I was nineteen. Over fifty years ago now. Ted (that's my husband), bless him, was ten years older than me, he took me to an out-of-the-way settlement, way up north. It was cold there: colder than it is here: a tough life—but we were so happy! As we grew older we moved back south and settled here. He was a good man, was Ted: I couldn't have asked for a better husband. Fifteen years ago he was taken from us, and I've lived here on my own ever since. I still miss him..."

"How do you live here?" asked Michael, glad to get away from the topic of their 'elopement'.

"I have some chickens in the back yard—maybe you heard them? And a couple of pigs. And a small vegetable plot: just big enough to work by myself. I sell the eggs to Thomas, over at the village shop, and buy a few necessaries there, to keep going. I won't say it's an easy life—not like you have in Kentak, I'll be guessing—but I manage."

"We're sure you do," said Rachel. "But we really need to push on. We have to get to Rigo, somehow..."

"Well, I wish you luck. Never been that way myself. It's an awfully long way—even if you cut across back to the road for Rigo. This road would take you too far to the north. And I warn you: it's many miles to the next village. Why don't you stop here for the night? I'd be glad of the company: it's so seldom we get young folk coming this way."

"Have you any children?" asked Rachel.

"No," replied Beth, brushing back a tear. "We had two—a boy and a girl. The boy... he was such a sweet lad, but... but... This was when we were still up North. Folk are so scattered, up there, it was a month before the Inspector got around to calling on us. But when he did, he...he..."

She could not finish the sentence. Rachel went to her and put an arm around her comfortingly. "We understand. Of course we understand" she whispered.

"And your daughter," asked Michael, feeling that he had to ask, though he wasn't sure he'd like the answer.

"She? Oh, she was 'normal'. She grew up and married. They were expecting their first child—and then she died in childbirth. The baby died too..."

Listening to this double tragedy, they noticed that Beth was more composed in relating her daughter's death, than she was in speaking of her son's fate. 'Normal' losses were clearly more bearable than Deviation losses. Michael wondered whether he might have met the son in the Fringes. It was possible.

He flashed a quick thought-shape to Rachel, hoping that Beth wouldn't notice. _"Shall we stop the night here?"_

Rachel made no reply, but she still had her arm around Beth's shoulder. "We'd love to stop here for the night," she whispered. "It's so kind of you..."

"That's settled then," said Beth, getting up. "Rachel, you come and help me make up a bed for you in the spare room—and Michael can sleep... but there! I was forgetting: you're married. Well, you may find it a tight squeeze, but I think you'll find there's room for both of you in the spare bed."

A little while later Beth was treating them to a modest supper. While they ate, she told them many tales about her hard life "up North" with her husband. She was convinced that the Old People—those wonderful people who had lived before Tribulation—the cataclysmic event which had shattered the old civilisations—had indeed inhabited Labrador, although sparsely. She said that in those days Labrador had been a cold place—much colder than it was now. Michael nodded: this confirmed some of the things he had learned at school. Possibly the hardship Beth and her husband Ted had endured, up in the far north of Labrador, was closer to what Old People had had to put up with in the more 'civilised' parts further south. Whatever the truth of that was, Beth regarded herself as closer to the 'true Labradorean' than the more settled people further south.

She also said that it was rumoured that in the Old Days, Rigo had been little more than a tiny settlement of a few hundred people. How it had grown to become the bustling capital it was today, she could not say.

Michael had a question he was burning to ask. "Did you get many—" Then he remembered what Beth had said about her son. Hastily he swallowed his words.

But Beth smiled. "Many Deviations, were you trying to say? Up north? Don't you be worried now: I know the word well enough! No—really! Let me talk about it, now! What happened to us was—just something that happened. But no: I don't think we got as many Deviations as you'd have got in Kentak" (Michael had continued the fiction that they came from Kentak. He dared not mention Waknuk...) "We did have a local Inspector, of course," she continued, "it was the Law—but a lot of the time he sat in his office complaining about the huge distances he had to cover when he _was_ called out—which wasn't often. I think our son was the first Human he'd had to deal with for—oh, ever so many years: we were just the unlucky ones. And people were so kind to us afterwards..."

Michael remember what David had told him about his Aunt Harriet—Harriet who had turned up at the Strorm's farm with a Deviational baby, only to be firmly repulsed by David's oppressive father—Harriet who had then committed suicide. How different things had been in Waknuk, compared to what Beth was telling them! And they had already strayed a long way to the north of the direct road from Kentak to Rigo.

He and Rachel needed to think things over. It certainly seemed that there were parts of Labrador where they could live in comparative safety. Provided they really had shaken off the pursuit, that was. They excused themselves, bid Beth good-night, and went to their bedroom.

"_What do you think, Rachel?"_ said Michael, reverting to thought-shapes, once they were in the rather narrow bed, huddled together. _"Until we arrived at Beth's house, I felt sure that the only option for us was to somehow get to Rigo, and then find a ship. But now I'm not so sure. Should we go north from here; find somewhere safe in the far north?"_

"_I think we should press on to Rigo, follow our original plan. Find a ship somehow, maybe get to Europe or Africa even. I don't like the idea of going north."_

"_But Rigo's where our pursuers will be heading: they'll expect us to be going there."_

"_Rigo's a big city by all accounts. They'd have to find us."_

"_They found us all right in Kentak—and that's quite a big place too. Didn't take them long. They'll have spies all over the place in Rigo, you mark my words—"_

"_Michael,"_ Rachel broke in petulantly, _"are you trying to start a quarrel with me? We've only been married five days and you want a quarrel? I'm dead set on going to Rigo and that's that! It's going to be tough enough just for us to survive as far as Rigo, crossing reasonably civilised parts of Labrador. Can you imagine how hard it would be, going north, in rougher country, and even further?"_

"_Beth and her husband seemed to have managed it."_

"_But we're not Beth and her husband. And maybe they travelled in summer. Now let me go to sleep please. We'll talk about it in the morning, OK?"_

Michael reluctantly acquiesced. For the first time, he felt Rachel had got the better of him. Anyway, the first part of their onward journey was clear enough: they must continue on the eastern road. Plenty of time for a decision. He turned away from her and slowly drifted off to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

They sat at a quick breakfast the next morning, and were unusually quiet—something which Beth noted. Had something come between them after dinner? But no: they had gone straight to bed, and she'd heard not a sound out of them since. It was puzzling, but Beth kept her thoughts to herself.

Beth fixed them up with a few eggs. "Hard-boiled, so they won't break in your packs. No—really, please take them, I've got plenty. Oh and don't forget to call in at Thomas's, the shopkeeper. Tell him I sent you."

"Ah yes, I remember: Thomas," said Michael. "Where's his shop? We could do with buying some stuff."

"Right in the middle of the village: you can't miss it." With that, and a hasty farewell, Beth saw them off.

They found Thomas's shop without difficulty, it had "GENERAL STORE" written up on a swinging board. They hitched up the horses, and walked inside. It seemed to be deserted, but after they rang the bell a few times, an elderly, rather dishevelled man came out from the back: they assumed this must be Thomas.

"Strangers, eh? We don't see many of those here. What can I do for you?"

Rachel explained that they had just come from Beth, that they were on a long journey, that they needed provisions.

"Beth, eh? That woman'll bankrupt herself, the way she goes on taking in strangers. But she's got a good heart, I'll say that for her. OK, I'll see what I can do for you."

With Rachel's help, Michael ordered a fairly long list of provisions, much of it in the form of ham and cheese and dried fish and fruits—stuff that should last for a long journey, stuff that could be loaded on the horses. As he reached into his money-pouch to pay, he seemed to start momentarily, but he quickly recovered himself. Bidding Thomas a hasty farewell, he hustled Rachel out of the shop, then led her until they were out of sight.

"_Some of my money's missing,"_ he said in thought-shapes. _"I know I had nearly 400 dollars when we left Kentak: all my savings: you remember, I counted it out. Now, when I went to pay the shopkeeper, there's less than 300. And that's before I paid him. So where has the rest gone?"_ and he started to scan up and down the road, in the vain hope that the missing notes might be lying in the roadway.

"_No point in doing that,"_ replied Rachel. _"If it's gone, it's gone. We'll have to make do on what's left—"_

"_No!"_ cut in Michael. _"It's got to be that woman. Why, the sly bitch! And she was so kind and welcoming to us! I'm going straight back to sort her out..."_

"No—wait!" put in Rachel, in words, seizing Michael's arm. Quickly reverting to thought-shapes, she continued: _"don't you see? It'd be your word against hers, and who'd believe you, in this tiny village? And she's a poor woman. She knew we had a fair bit of money, we were asleep, and the temptation was probably too much! But she didn't take it all. And there's something else. I think she's a bit suspicious of us. The way she looked at us at breakfast: I didn't feel comfortable. I wonder. You know what my big mistake may have been? Showing her that 'wedding ring'. I wish I hadn't, now. Just a steel washer I'd picked up in the street. She'd have known that if we really planned an elopement, we'd have got ourselves a proper ring, beforehand. So she guessed that elopement wasn't the main reason for our flight..."_

Michael was thunderstruck. Rachel's reasoning certainly made sense.

"_So the best thing for us,"_ continued Rachel, _"is, continue on our way. Look upon what she took as 'hush money'—if we leave her with it, perhaps she won't put the dogs on us? It's worth the chance."_

Michael nodded.

"_And furthermore, it strengthens my resolve that we must get to Rigo, somehow or other. Don't you now realise? No-one in Labrador can be entirely trusted. If Beth can't, who can be?"_

"_All right: you've got me," _said Michael at last. _"Rigo it is. If we're followed: well, we've managed to evade capture so far..."_

They had meanwhile packed up the provisions and mounted, and were leaving the ill-omened village of Charlak behind. Luckily they had met no other people as they rode out of the village: they realised that even talking in thought-shapes, when there were other people about, was enough to arouse suspicion.

Michael wondered what Beth would do next. He found it hard to get his head around the idea that she was a scheming, vindictive woman—not after all the kindness and generosity she'd shown them the day before. Perhaps she hadn't taken the money? It occurred to him that if she had, she'd have known he would discover the loss as soon as he went to pay the shopkeeper. Seemed strange. But if not her, who else could have taken it? Apart from the mile or two after they'd left Kentak, and again the few miles on the road leading into Charlak, they'd not met a soul on the way. And those people they had passed had merely exchanged a "Good day" and gone on their way. It couldn't have been any of them!

It made no sense. Now that they were away from the village, he sought Rachel's counsel.

Rachel thought for a long time before answering. "I think," she said in words, "that this was a sort of double-bluff. She expected us to come storming back to her house, and she had her answer ready. If we did so, she'd then reveal that she knew 'something' about us—and since it wasn't the elopement, she'd challenge us about Deviations. I'm almost certain she guessed the truth about us—although whether she guessed it was thought-shapes or some other sort of Deviation, I'm not sure. Anyway, she then reasoned that we'd take it a step further—that we'd realise she was on to us, that we were at risk—so we'd not come back. So she could keep the money.

"And I think we should avoid using thought-shapes as far as possible. When it's just the two of us together, and no-one else about..."

Michael had already come to the same conclusion. "Which reminds me. Heard anything at all of Mark since we set out? I haven't."

"Nor have I. Not a squeak I've been trying, every few hours. We'll have to leave off trying to send to him. We just have to hope he's all right. And Stephanie—don't forget her. She's in as much danger as he is."

"Well, if we do make it to Rigo," added Michael, "there's just a chance we may meet them there. Remember, that's where we said we were going."

There were a few isolated farms and cottages beside the lane as they rode on, at scarcely more than walking-pace. They met a few people but stopped to talk to no-one, and none of them took any notice of them. Finally they left the houses and cultivated fields behind them and entered another tract of forest. There was no-one about.

Beth had advised them that it was over seventy miles to the next settlement, and very little in between except forest and rough scrubland. There were no roads turning off either to the right or the left before then, which was a relief to Michael, since he was now worrying a lot about them getting lost. The weather had turned overcast, and without the sun to guide him he was no longer sure of his bearings. The store-keeper back at Charlak had been unable to provide him with a map. All he could guess was that the road, for all its twistings and turnings, did seem to be heading in a general easterly direction.

At least the overcast weather meant that it wasn't so cold. But he still meant to get warmer clothes—furs if possible—when they reached the next village.

For five days they continued to pass through this empty land, meeting no-one. Michael was beginning to worry that they might have somehow missed the next settlement, which according to Beth was named Cuthal. But towards the end of the third day, to their great relief, they came to cultivated fields and saw a scattering of houses ahead.

Michael decided to take a chance. At one of the outlying farms, he dismounted and knocked on the door. "Is this Cuthal?" he asked as a young woman answered.

"It is," replied the woman, eyeing them for a moment in curiosity. "Going far?"

"Yes," replied Michael, laconically. He didn't want to say more than that. Luckily the woman seemed to lose interest in them, and went back into the farmhouse shutting the door.

"Well, at least we know where we are. If only we had a map! I'll ask at the shop, if there is one."

They rode on slowly into the village, which appeared to be somewhat larger than Charlak. And they saw that there was a fork in the road here, with one road leading to the north skirting a large lake, whilst the other apparently turned a bit more to the south-east.

They looked for a store, but couldn't find one at first. There was, however, a modest inn at the junction: the first they had seen since they left Kentak. At this, Rachel put her foot down.

"We're going to stay here, whether you like it or not; two nights at the very least. I've got money as well, you know: not as much as you, but at least mine is intact. Look at our horses! How could anyone expect any horse to have done what these beasts have done for us? Must be 150 miles at the very least. If you want to find a shop, leave it till tomorrow."

"All right," conceded Michael. "One night, at any rate."

"No: two nights at least. Not only our horses: we need the rest too. I don't know about you, but I sure am saddle-sore! We've made good progress, but it's still a long way to go."

Michael couldn't deny that. He'd learnt a lot about Rachel since they'd started on their journey together: how determined she was, how there was no arguing with her once she'd chosen their course. By contrast, he'd become more uncertain, more ready to accept compromise. How different he'd become, compared with the assured young man he'd been, helping from his rearward position to guide David, Rosalind and Petra to eventual safety! Then he'd thought, he could take charge of any situation: the natural leader. But not now. Rachel had seen to that!

He followed Rachel into the inn. The innkeeper looked them up and down, but only for a moment. It seemed that travellers were more frequent on the busier road they were now to take: a sign that they'd have to be careful. And he asked them to produce their Normalcy cards: something they'd not been asked for since they left Kentak.

Without a moment's hesitation Rachel handed hers over: Michael quickly followed suit. If they had ever thought of producing passable forgeries, they had missed their chance. Luckily, the innkeeper had never heard of Waknuk, and Kentak was just another settlement "out west" that he knew only vaguely by name. And of course their names meant nothing to him. They had indeed covered a considerable distance: every mile made it that little bit safer.

Until they reached Rigo, that is. Even Rachel had to admit, their epic journey might yet come to nothing once they approached the capital, with all its spies and informers. She wondered—not for the first time!—whether this might all end up in a nightmare journey back to Waknuk, bound and gagged and awaiting banishment to the Fringes...

Best not to dwell too much on those thoughts.

Taking note of their different surnames, the innkeeper assigned them to separate rooms. No point in arguing, of course: the same would have happened in Kentak, and probably everywhere else in Labrador. Except, perhaps, in Rigo...

And, once in his room, Michael could not help but notice the communicating door with Rachel's room. It was locked, but there might be a key somewhere. Anyway he was dog-tired: he lay down on the bed and was instantly asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

In the morning Michael and Rachel sat to a more leisurely breakfast than they had enjoyed for many days. They hoped that they'd be able to spend two nights at this village—for the first time since they'd left Waknuk. A good opportunity to rest and recover some of their strength.

After checking that the horses were well stabled, they set out to look for a store. That was not hard: in fact there were three in this village. Calling in at the most likely one, they asked casually for a map.

"Map, eh?" replied the shopkeeper. "Travelling, I suppose, with no idea where to go? Well, I'm sorry, but I don't have any maps here. I reckon you'll find a map hard to come by in these parts. Folks here don't travel far, and those that do know all the local roads. There just isn't the call for maps. But I suppose you could try the other stores. Anything else I can do for you?"

Michael decided that they couldn't leave the shop without buying some things, so they stocked up with provisions again. Then they walked on to the second shop—with exactly the same result. Just as they were leaving, with an apology, Michael remembered something. "Got any fur coats here?"

"No—that I haven't—but you could try Peter's store down the end of the village. I think he has one or two still." Thanking him, they went on to the last shop—Peter's—and found that he indeed had a few furs for sale. "But they're not cheap, I'm afraid. I'll be asking forty dollars each."

Michael searched his dwindling money-pouch in some dismay. Eighty dollars would leave him with very little spending-money for the rest of the journey. "Would you settle for thirty—if we take two?"

"Tell you what. How does thirty-five sound—if you take two? My final offer."

Michael was silent for a while, but Rachel at once spoke up. "We'll take them for thirty-five, thanks very much—and Michael, I'm paying for these. I've got a little money of my own." With that she fetched out a pouch of her own, which Michael hadn't even noticed up till then. Emptying it out on the counter, she counted sixty-three dollars. "All right then, Michael, you'll have to find the extra seven..."

Peter looked at the money on the counter, and smiled. "Tell you what: I'll let you have them for sixty-three. How's that?"

They gratefully accepted the offer—Michael ruefully realising that he could probably have haggled Peter even further down—but at least they had the coats. They found one that fitted Michael perfectly, but the smallest in the shop was still a bit too big for Rachel. "Don't worry, it'll do fine for me. Oh and by the way, I don't suppose you have any maps—or a compass?" she added as an afterthought.

"Maps, indeed! I reckon you've been asking around already! Sorry, I can't help you there. You could try the Inn—I think there's a map on the wall somewhere, though it won't be for sale. But I do have a compass. Not a very good one, I'm afraid: compasses don't work well in this part of Labrador for some reason. But since you've bought the coats, I'll let you have it for a dollar, OK?"

Gratefully wrapping the coats around them, and pocketing the precious compass, they went straight back to the inn. Searching around, they did indeed find a map on the wall, in one of the private rooms. They went straight to the innkeeper.

"Sell my map? You must be bloody joking, my friends! That's the only map for fifty miles around: I'd cut off my arm before I part with it..."

Rachel had an idea. "If we can't buy it, can we at least copy part of it?"

"Well, I suppose you can—just so long as you don't damage it in any way. Tell you what: I'll get some paper and a pencil."

"Let me do this, Michael," said Rachel, when the paper arrived. "I probably sketch better than you: I had some lessons when I was younger."

After a quick lunch, she settled down before the map. After about two hours' work, she had produced what she thought was a passable copy, concentrating mainly on the south-east, which was the direction they intended to travel. When the innkeeper next came by, she asked him "do you know what the scale of the map is?"

The innkeeper seemed puzzled by this question, so she tried again. Searching out a village which was marked near the south-east corner of the map, she pointed to it and asked "Do you know how far this village is from us?"

The innkeeper scratched his head for a while, then he answered "Well, I reckon it's about two days' journey there, by cart. Let's call it forty miles, shall we?"

Rachel realised that this was the best she'd get from him. Better than nothing. So the map would guide them some of the way towards Rigo, before they ran out.

Meanwhile, Michael had been exploring the village, particularly the north-west road which ran alongside the lake to the east. Reaching the last house by the lakeside, he thought he'd ask how far the lake extended, to the north. He still had this hankering idea of diverting to the north, perhaps even persuading Rachel to do a circuit around the lake at the very least. And there appeared to be Old People's works of some sort at the very head of the lake, although he couldn't fathom out what their purpose might be.

"How far to the north? Oh, I reckon it'll be about a hundred miles or so."

"_A hundred miles!"_ said Michael, flabbergasted.

"Yes indeed," replied the old man who had answered his knock. "Didn't you realise? This is one of the largest lakes in Labrador, I reckon. If there aren't larger ones, even further north. And you really want to do a circuit round it? I wish you luck, mate! There'll be no roads up there, and no end of impassable torrents to get across. I don't know if it's even possible. Never been that way myself."

Michael at once thanked him and returned to the village, thankful that his wild plan had come to nothing. At least he didn't need to argue with Rachel about it! He found her in the map room, just putting the finishing touches to her copy. She showed it to Michael. "Best I can do, but we'll be off the edge of it in another fifty miles or so, so it won't carry us far."

"Rachel, you're a treasure. I couldn't have done it half as well."

"Now now! Flattery isn't the way to win me round!"

"OK, but we must really protect this like gold dust, for as long as we need it. Driest part of one of the saddlebags."

They sat with the copy spread out on a table in front of them, doing their best to memorise as much as possible of it. Rachel pencilled in a few additional settlements from the original on the wall, seeing as they didn't know what detours they might be forced to make. When they were satisfied that they had as much information on it as they could possibly need, Michael took it to his room and carefully folded into one of the saddlebags. Returning, since it was now well into the evening (days being short at this time of year), he and Rachel sat down to dinner.

"Early night for me, I think, and early start—OK?" said Rachel, finally getting up from the table. Michael nodded, pointing to his unfinished cocoa as excusing his delay. Once he'd finished, he in turn went upstairs to his own room. As he entered, he put a hand to the communicating door with Rachel's room, and to his surprise he found it was now unlocked.

As he gingerly opened the door a crack, Rachel called out from the other side, "Come on in." Michael suddenly felt a moment of shyness once more, but pulling himself together he swung the door open. Rachel was lying on the bed, naked, eyeing him intensely. Michael found himself eyeing her back, equally intensely: it was the first time since they had swum in the rock-pool. Meanwhile it was taking him forever to divest himself of his clothing: everything seemed to be getting tangled up. Finally, without once taking his eyes off her, he joined her on the bed.

"Not the world's greatest beauty, am I?" murmured Rachel, kneading her breasts. Michael muttered something inaudible. Her beauty was different to that of Stephanie's: more homely, less exotic. But all the same, it was Rachel's attractions that now consumed him...

In the morning, after Michael had carefully disarranged his own bed—they could do without rumours—they had a hurried breakfast, paid their bill,.mounted, and were on their way. Their horses seemed fresher for the day's rest, at least. As they left Michael surveyed what was left in his money-pouch. Enough for one—perhaps two—more stays in inns, plus a few provisions—then their money would be exhausted. He kept this information from Rachel for now. He knew they were running short, and felt he ought to find answers for himself.

As they followed the south-east road, they found themselves coming to more settled regions, with more villages. More people passed them on the way, but no-one exchanged more than the odd greeting. Michael suggested they would do better not to stop at any of the villages—still mindful of their unfortunate experience back at Charlak, he explained to Rachel. Instead they made camp as best they could by the roadside, taking care to tether the horses well away from the road where they could not be seen. The weather was now getting steadily colder, but with their fur coats spread over them, and huddled together, they were able to keep reasonably warm.

On the fourth day out from Cuthal, they were almost at the edge of their map which would then become useless to them. Just as they were setting out, however, Rachel suddenly stopped, with her hand in the air. "Listen!" she said urgently. "In thought-shapes," she added, unnecessarily.

Michael was already straining as hard as he could—yes! there were faint but distinct thought-shapes coming from somewhere to the north. Someone—a woman, no-one they recognised—was saying something like _"Morning, dear. Is it today we call on Peter?"_ And a man replied something like _"I think it was tomorrow we agreed, Rachel. I've got skins to set out."_ Then there was silence.

Clearly this 'Rachel' was a different person.

So there were others out there!

Michael could contain himself no longer. They had not, themselves, projected thought-shapes for some time now, recognising that there was some risk in doing so. But now, putting forth all his strength, he sent out _"Hello! Who are you, and may we meet up?"_

There was no response for about a minute. Then an urgent-sounding message _"Peter's place, OK? And hurry!"_ Then, again, silence.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

All the time since Michael had sent out that thought, Rachel (his Rachel) had been staring at him, seemingly lost for words. Finally she found her voice. In words, **"You utter bloody fool!"**

Michael was completely taken aback. He had naturally assumed that Rachel would be as eager as he was, to make contact with other groups who could send thought-shapes. "But—" he began.

"Don't you understand?" continued Rachel, interrupting him. "Whoever those people are, they're not going to find it easy, making contact with a group like us. Certainly not with us being refugees from the west! Maybe they're happy as they are—whoever they are. Maybe they don't want to join in any madcap adventures like we're forced into. If they're not under threat themselves, why expose them to it? And there you go and blow it all with your impetuous message! If you ask me, they'll maintain silence now until they're convinced we're out of range..."

"I still think we should go and seek them out," said Michael. "The first thought-shapers we've made contact with, outside of our own community and the Zealand woman! Surely that's got to be a 'must'!"

"I would have half agreed with you, at least until you burst out with that message. Now I doubt if we'll find them. Thanks to you! We could waste days—weeks even—looking for them. I vote we go on. There may be others..."

"Or there may not," insisted Michael. "Who can tell? How can we possibly pass this group up?"

"Give me one good reason why we should hunt down this group," said Rachel, stubbornly.

"OK. I'll give you two. Firstly, our money isn't going to last out. I should have told you before, but I thought I'd spare you this further anxiety. Any help we can get, on that front, would be most welcome. Secondly, what do we do once we get to Rigo? Commandeer a ship, with just the two of us to sail it? Wait against all hope for Mark and Stephanie to show up—and remember Stephanie doesn't actually want to leave Labrador! Take passage on a ship? Remember what Uncle Axel told David: all the shipping now goes South, which isn't the direction we want to take. We want to go East, and according to Uncle Axel again, no-one knows what happens if you go East: either the sea goes on for ever, or you fall off the edge!

"Well, we know that neither of those things are true, but sailors are jolly superstitious chaps. Do you imagine we'll easily persuade them to sail East, when even we don't know what lies on the other side? All we have are the names 'Europe' and 'Africa'—and that's not much to go on. They could be all Badlands..."

Michael fell silent. He could see that Rachel was weighing up the options. After a long time, she said: "All right then. If you think you can find these people, I'll give you three days. But no more. Every day we waste is making it more and more dangerous. Have you any idea which way to go?"

Michael was relieved to be 'back in charge', so to speak. He said, "North, to start with. That's definitely where the messages were coming from. We need to find a trail heading north. My guess is, they were about fifteen miles away: assuming their strength of projection is similar to ours. After that, we'll have to seek out someone called 'Peter' or someone called 'Rachel'—probably in the same village. And we know Rachel can send thought-shapes: presumably this 'Peter' can too. Not much to go on, I'm afraid."

"Is there a trail leading north?" asked Rachel.

"Not that I've seen, but there is one marked on the map: look! Lucky that we haven't gone off the edge of it yet. Let's go on slowly, looking for it: it'll be a path of some sort—probably a fairly small one."

They continued slowly for about three miles, without seeing any path. They saw a village ahead: Michael decided to ride on ahead and ask its name—then he could get their bearings.

When he returned he was not encouraging. "It's not on our map, so I think we must be off the edge. But there's definitely a path to the north somewhere, if you've copied the map right! Shall we go back a few miles, see if we missed it?"

Rachel was less than enthusiastic about this, but she agreed that they ought to go back—at least three or four miles before the spot where they'd first heard the thought-shapes. They cantered quickly back to the spot where they had camped and first heard the messages. Picking their way slowly back from there on, they continued another two miles, then Michael gave a shout of joy.

"Here it is! Look, just beside this stream there's a faint trail. Not surprising we missed it—but then we weren't looking for a turning north at the time. So—do we go on it?"

Rachel nodded. They picked their way carefully along the trail for about a hundred yards: then it suddenly left the stream at a bend and rose to more level ground further on, becoming a much wider and more negotiable trail, still heading north as far as Michael could make out. He had the compass out for the first time since they left Cuthal. He found—as Peter the storekeeper had warned him—that it didn't perform very well: it seemed to work better if he tilted it towards the north. He tried to remember some of what he'd learnt at school: something about 'Angle of Dip'. He guessed that Labrador was rather close to the North Magnetic Pole. Whatever—the compass would serve.

"This path still heads north, and still on the map, thank goodness! You've marked two villages on it at about the fifteen-mile mark. Could be either of those, maybe? Any ideas?"

Rachel had no ideas. But she said, she was fairly certain there hadn't been any others she'd missed out.

"Then we'll try the one to the West first. Called Lemban, so it seems."

They put their horses into a fast trot—to their relief the horses seemed to be keen on it. It took less than two hours before they came to a fork in the road: they guessed that the left-hand fork did indeed lead to Lemban. Sure enough, a mile or two further on they reached a small village.

Michael dismounted and made his way to the village store. Quickly, he asked the question "is there anyone called Peter here?"

"Peter, eh? Let me think. Sure you don't mean Peter who runs one of the stores, back at Cuthal?"

"No, not that one. We've just come from him, as it happens. No, I mean a different Peter: in this village or close by?"

"Hmmm...yes, now I remember: there's an old chap called Peter, lives in a small cottage about a mile beyond the village. White-painted cottage, on the right..."

Thanking the shopkeeper, he re-joined Rachel and they rode on, quickly finding the cottage in question. Michael knocked at the door, and a young woman answered. "Is this Peter's house?" he asked.

"Yes it is. Do you want him? I should warn you, he's not very well today. Dad!" she called up the stairs.

"Wait a minute. Do you know someone called Rachel?"

"Can't say as I do. Never heard the name, not here. Do you still want Dad?"

"No, don't bother. I think we've gone the wrong way. Sorry to trouble you." And with that he re-joined Rachel and they turned back towards the village.

"Must be the other village then. Called Ragnarok, of all names. Let's try that one, at least."

They rode back through the village and came back to the fork. Taking the other branch, they followed it for a while. Clearly Ragnarok was further along the way, because they rode at least five or six miles before they came to a collection of houses. In the middle of the village, they stopped.

"If it's not this one, I'm turning round. Going to try the shop again?" asked Rachel.

"No," said Mike. "If they're not here, I'll do as you say. But let's at least try it this way." And with that he put out a firm but medium-strength thought-shape: _"Are you there Peter?"_

There was a slight pause. Then a man's voice answered _"thought you'd find us out. Oh well, seeing as you're here, you'd better come in. Fourth house on the left, green door. Just knock."_

They went up to the door and knocked. A tall man, slightly built and with greying hair, answered the door. He beckoned them in and shut the door. Inside were two other men and a woman. They introduced themselves:

"_I'm Rachel,"_ began the woman, who was tall, dark-haired and slightly plump, apparently in her mid-40s. _"I understand you're also called Rachel. Oh dear! That's awkward. Tell you what—since I'm quite a lot taller than you, I don't mind being called 'Big Rachel'. Do you want to be called 'Little Rachel'?"_

"_I think I'd rather be just 'Rachel', if you don't mind."_

"_So be it. Anyway, this is my husband Tim,"_ indicating the man standing next to her. He was slightly shorter, also with dark hair, slightly less plump, and also apparently in his mid-40s. He acknowledged their greeting. _"Peter you've already met," continued Big Rachel, "and this is Peter's son Justin,"_ pointing to a young, fairly muscular man in his late 20s.

"_Is this all of you?"_ asked Michael, looking around, after Peter and Justin had each acknowledged their presence.

"Yes," put in Peter, in words. "No: in words please, now we've got over the introductions, if you don't mind. Were you expecting more?"

"No. Well, yes really. I don't know. Whatever—it's good to meet up with more of 'us'. I was beginning to think that we two—well we three, actually, or so we hope, there's another one of us somewhere out there—were the only ones left in Labrador."

"Well, we're happy to prove you wrong. Though it took a lot of soul-searching before we decided to let you in on us," continued Peter. "But in the end, we decided to trust you. As you can see, we're all quite a bit older than you—but it's good to know there is young blood around to carry on the strain."

"Tell us a bit about yourselves," asked Michael.

"Before we do that, you, as the guests, ought to give us your story. I'm sure there's lots you can tell us. Begin at the beginning—I might even be able to help out a bit on that front. Starts at Waknuk, doesn't it—?"

"_How the hell did you know that?"_ put in Michael and Rachel simultaneously, involuntarily bursting into thought-shapes.

"Aha. I thought as much. It's a long story, and it begins with a little girl—"

"Petra!" Rachel suddenly exclaimed.

"Ah yes. We never actually caught her name, but we learned a lot about her—and about your community. I reckon she must be around eight now..."

"Nearly," corrected Michael.

"Oh well, seven then. Anyway, we remember she first burst forth upon us—and presumably the whole of Labrador—and beyond—about a year and a half ago. We couldn't make out much of it, but she seemed to have fallen into a lake or something, and was calling for help..."

"That's right. David and Rosalind rescued her. From the river. That was the first time we discovered her extraordinary powers."

"David and Rosalind, eh? Two more of your group, I reckon," went on Peter. "But never mind them for now, I'll continue. There was nothing for about a year, and then all of a sudden another distress call of some sort. Something about a dead pony? Went on for most of the day."

Michael and Rachel both nodded. They had both been present at the scene.

"And after that, there were more messages of some sort. Didn't make too much sense—as you might expect from a girl of just eight—seven. We heard the name LABRADOR being spelled out, also some references to Waknuk, which we gathered was where she came from—and a mysterious place called 'Sealand' which was apparently a long way away..."

" 'Zealand'," corrected Rachel.

"All right, Zealand then—which we guessed was some way outside Labrador. And to the West. And we got the impression that all you Waknuk community of thought-shapers were fleeing _en masse_ for this Zealand place. Anyway, the messages from Petra stopped some months ago, so we assumed you were indeed on your way. Until you two hailed us, that is. Apparently fleeing _East_. And in some sort of a hurry.

"So I think you'd better tell us your story now. From the beginning."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Michael decided to pin his faith in their new friends. What else could they do? They desperately needed some help, and if there were any people in Labrador they could trust, it had to be these people. They sat down and began. He told their story at length, beginning from the time they had first become aware of their thought-shape abilities, as children. He didn't make any mention of Sophie—at first. But he mentioned David and Rosalind, and David's sister Petra, whom they already knew about of course. He mentioned Sally and Katherine, and how a surprise attack had been launched: an attack which had been intended to round up those two girls, plus David, Rosalind, and Petra, simultaneously. By sheer good fortune, helped no doubt by a bit of fumble by the authorities at the Waknuk end, David, Rosalind and Petra had got away—although the other two girls had been captured, tortured, and probably killed...

Upon hearing this, Peter and the others gave a deep sigh. "We knew awful things were happening in Waknuk; what you have told us simply confirms what we already guessed. But go on."

Michael explained that he and Rachel, and another boy called Mark, had not yet fallen under suspicion. He decided to volunteer for one of the posses sent out to pursue the fugitives, straight away. David, Rosalind and Petra had indeed been able to elude capture—until they were caught by Fringes people. Then there had come the showdown in the Fringes clearing—brought to a sudden halt by the advent of the Zealand woman...

Michael stopped. He realised that the next part—what he had seen in the clearing—would be difficult. He had kept the truth even from Rachel: merely repeating to her the fiction about 'giant spiders'—the story which she'd already heard: which she knew was a fiction.

"All right. This is what actually happened in the Fringe clearing. The Waknuk raiders were over-running the Fringers—putting them to flight. They had the only guns; they were well-organised. The outcome seemed inevitable, and as far as I was concerned the game was up. Whatever tricks the Sealand—sorry, 'Zealand'—people might come up with, I wasn't expecting to come out of it alive...

"Then the Zealand flying machine arrived. David thought it was topped by some sort of 'conical spiral', but he didn't really have a chance to examine it closely. I think it was more like two pairs of twin screws for propulsion—two facing forward, two facing aft. But more on that later.

"As the flying machine came in to land, it appeared to release thousands of sticky threads. I can only suppose these threads came from the machine itself—I don't see where else they could have come from. These threads slowly descended onto the clearing, and wherever they touched anything, be it human or animal, plant or rock—it stuck fast. So fast that no human strength—not even a horse's strength—could tear it loose. I couldn't have believed any glue could be so powerful, if I hadn't experienced it for myself.

"The Zealand woman simply said, without any emotion, that everyone in the clearing, apart from they, would die. And that's exactly what happened..."

Michael broke off. He felt the nausea rising in him again, for the second time since he had witnessed these scenes. He noticed that Rachel—his Rachel—was weeping in the other Rachel's arms. Excusing himself, he went out into the next room, the kitchen apparently, found a sink, and threw up once more. Time and time again. He sensed that others of the party were also being sick, but he could not take in any more for a long time.

Peter and Justin seemed to be least affected. They sat quietly in the room they had met in, waiting for the others to join them. Eventually, after a long time, Michael came out. He looked very pale – as if he had been through a wasting illness. Apparently Tim was still throwing up, while the two Rachels were comforting one another in a corner. Evening was rapidly drawing in.

Peter took charge of the situation. "No more to be said about any of this. Except—even before you came—when the only information we got was from the disjointed accounts of the Petra child—we suspected that all was not to be desired with these Zealand people. Not to be entirely trusted. Now we know.

"No more story-telling from you tonight, Michael. Question now is, what do we do about you? Well, that's the easy bit. You and Rachel (you are together aren't you) take Justin's room, Justin'll come in with me. Tim and Big Rachel will return to their home—when they're fit enough. No more arguments tonight! There'll be plenty to discuss tomorrow."

Michael was mightily relieved at this suggestion. And he was relieved, in a way, that Rachel had expressed herself in tears. So much better than bottling up her emotions! He knew that, now there was a tacit understanding between them, the subject was closed.

For almost the first time since they left Waknuk, he set to wondering about David and Rosalind. And Petra! There had been not a squeak out of her since just as they were approaching Zealand. Oh well, they would have to look after themselves, he supposed. Probably Petra had been taught to curb her over-reaching powers to some extent. And Zealand, for all the terrible things they had witnessed, still seemed to be the safest place for a thought-shaper to be.

But not for him, and not for Rachel. He had known that from the start. They would need to seek solace elsewhere. As he pondered these thoughts, he gradually nodded off to sleep.

It was broad daylight when he awoke. He realised he must have been asleep for many hours. As he shook himself awake, a thought shape burst in upon him:

"_If you're awake, come and join us for breakfast. Rachel is already here."_ He guessed it was Peter. Quickly dressing himself, he went into the kitchen and joined Peter, Justin and Rachel at the table.

"Now we're all awake, it's words only, here. Understand? Yes, I think you already understand that! Safer. You and your friends were rather reckless, using thought-shapes so often, especially in a frontier region like Waknuk. Not really surprising you got found out—it would have happened sooner or later."

The word 'frontier' reminded Michael of something he'd been meaning to ask, ever since they arrived here. "Peter—Justin—what happens to Deviations here?"

"We were wondering when you'd come up with that. Well, there are far fewer Deviations here than there are in Waknuk or Kentak. That much should be evident to you. Maybe not so many as one per year, in any one village..."

"One per year!"

"More or less. Not what you were taught in Waknuk or Kentak, I reckon."

"No—indeed! We learnt that Deviations were spread over the whole of Labrador. Even at school in Kentak, that's what I was taught."

"Yes—well I reckon that's just what the people of Waknuk wanted you to believe, was it not?" continued Peter. "Last thing they'd want was lots of people drifting off to the 'safer' east—not when there were farms to work and Fringes people to fight off! So it's hardly surprising that they put out the story that all of Labrador was the same.

"Truth is, this far east, hardly anyone here bothers much about Deviations. If they're little things, we just let them go. Quite often the gene pool (don't ask me to explain what those words mean – yet!) sorts them out: a parent _with_ a minor mutation can give birth to a child _without_ the mutation. Sometimes it takes two or three generations to sort out. I don't suppose you lot had the chance to test that out..."

Michael said nothing, but he suddenly thought of Stephanie—formerly Sophie. If only! He wondered if what they 'did' to her could in some way be reversed...

"So, you see, we're all pretty well settled here. Very little threat. OK, Justin has several girlfriends—no-one he's really serious about yet—and none of them is a thought-shaper." Justin nodded at this; he had hardly spoken during the meal. "Well, we'll address that problem if and when we come to it" (Michael thought about Anne and Alan, and the disastrous end to their marriage...). "I'm a widower, and Tim and Rachel are already married—though without children, yet."

"Your late wife? If I may ask?" said Michael.

"She just died. Fairly young, just after Justin was born. No, don't worry, I'm used to that sort of questioning. It was quite some time ago..."

Peter paused, thinking about what he had to say next.

"So you see, we're all pretty much settled here. Why should any of us want to move, just to serve your ends?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Michael was dumbstruck. He had no idea he had put out this idea as a thought-shape, but there was no getting away from it: he had indeed been contemplating: how on earth to persuade these people to embark on a hazardous journey with them, merely to suit Rachel's and his purpose in trying to secure a ship to take them—where? But evidently he had broadcast the thought at large. He could think of nothing to say. Nor could Rachel.

"I sense your pain, my friends. Let us just say: the whole idea of us abandoning our houses, of coming with you, on a 200-mile journey to Rigo—a journey fraught with unknown dangers—and when there to help you secure a ship to take you East—East to places very little is known about—perhaps even to board ship with you! When we are safe and secure here. Surely you must see that the whole idea is quite preposterous...

"But we'll leave that matter for now. At least until Tim and Rachel—sorry, Big Rachel—arrive; they need to at least have a say. They're busy at present, but should be here around mid-day. We need to listen to the rest of your story—how you got away from that place of death."

"What do you do for a living?" asked Rachel, speaking from the first time.

Justin took this as his cue, glad to get away from the awkward topics they'd been discussing up till then. "I go out hunting; Dad writes books," he replied laconically.

"Eh?" said Rachel.

"Oh—I suppose you want more than that? I go out with some of the others in the village: we go after moose, caribou, seals, bears, that sort of thing. For food, furs and the like. I'm often away for some days at a time. With the weather closing in, it'll be seals on the next trip. Dad collects data and writes books, mostly about Labrador and its history, as far back as it goes. Almost certainly, he's written stuff you won't have seen back in Waknuk or Kentak."

"And Tim and Rachel?"

"Tim comes with me on some of the hunting trips, but he also spends time at home stretching the skins we bring back. Rachel sort of looks after the house, both at their place and here. Does the cooking and all."

They asked a bit more about the 'family' they had found. It was all very peaceful and well-ordered. Once again Michael was wondering whether they'd be better off staying here, in a 'safe' part of Labrador, now that it seemed pretty certain they'd shaken off the pursuit. Indeed it seemed unlikely that their pursuers had even found their turning off towards Charlak, where they had first met Beth. And she could be relied upon to put them off the scent. The chances of them discovering two fugitives hidden away in a tiny community like Ragnarok seemed—well, remote.

But Rachel—his Rachel—was still not convinced. She seemed determined that they should at least take on Rigo and enquire about ships, come what may.

Just as they were still arguing about it, the door opened and Tim and Big Rachel came in. Tim started off by apologising for his unfortunate turn the evening before. "Sorry about that. Here am I, all used to dressing up and curing skins and all that, handling dead animals all the time, then I hear about what Michael's told us about, it just made my skin crawl and then I couldn't help myself..."

After mutual expressions of commiseration, Big Rachel proclaimed that lunch was ready to be served, so could they possibly hold back on further discussions until later? To this they all agreed.

Afterwards, Peter said, Michael should continue the story, starting from the point where the flying machine had settled in the clearing. "But we'll leave out the spiders' webs. Once is enough!"

So Michael began, hesitantly: "Well, I probably had a better look at that flying machine, as it was finally taking off, with the others aboard. It didn't seem to be powered entirely by those four screws on top: I think they were only for propulsion. The 'lift' was evidently supplied by hydrogen bags within the body: that way the machine could probably coast long distances without re-fuelling. I learnt all about hydrogen—how light it is, how it could be used to make something 'fly'—back at school. I don't see any other way a machine like that could reach us from Zealand. But there's much I don't understand here.

"Anyway, I went down to the river and was sick. Then I forded the river at a place where it was fairly shallow, and followed the path away from the clearing, about a mile. To my great relief, I found a horse abandoned by its dead rider, that seemed to be uninjured. I returned to the river, and then we both mounted and—"

Peter interrupted him at this point. "'**We**'? You said nothing about another person until now. You were the only survivor, were you not?—apart from those carried off in the flying machine. So who's this 'we'?"

Michael realised that he had slipped up. Of course, using thought-shapes, it would have been impossible to conceal Sophie's existence for long—that's simply not possible in thought-shapes. But in words, he'd been trying to keep Sophie out of the equation—mainly because that would enable him to steer clear of stuff he still found embarrassing, like the 'washtub' incident. But how he was going to work out the return journey to Waknuk as a solo traveller? He had no idea.

After a long period of silence, Peter came to the rescue. "Look, Michael, we already know there's more to your story than what you've told us. You picked up someone in the Fringes and took him or her back with you. Clearly that person wasn't a thought-shaper, or you wouldn't have been so cagey about it. But it looks like they came from the Fringes. That makes them a Mutant. We've already established that your community comes down heavily on Mutants—far more so than we do. That would explain things. Right so far?"

Michael could only nod.

"OK. Now I've been careful not to identify the sex of this person so far, but I'm guessing it's a woman?"

Once again Michael nodded: he realised he was no match for Peter's insight.

"So—I'm guessing here, but I'm thinking there might have been something between you two—something you wished to keep secret—too embarrassing perhaps: you and a Mutant—?"

"NO!" cried Michael, interrupting, thankful that at last he had caught Peter out in a wrong assumption. "No! It wasn't like that at all. OK, I'd better tell the whole story over again, filling in the gaps. Rachel already knows," for Rachel was blushing prettily, "so it won't embarrass her too much. I hope!" Rachel winked. "I really need to go right back to my childhood—well, David's childhood really, because I didn't learn the details until some time later. It starts with David, as a ten-year-old boy, playing at a place we called the Bank..."

And so Michael continued, telling of David's chance meeting with Sophie... "that's not her name now, but I'll continue..." He told how Sophie, a little girl a bit younger than David, got her foot stuck between some rocks, she made strenuous but fruitless efforts to extricate herself without David's help; eventually she gave in and implored him to keep her big secret.

She had six toes on each foot.

David accompanied Sophie back to her parent's house, where he was made to promise not to reveal her secret—and where he discovered that Sophie's mother had some of the thought-shaping powers herself—though very primitively and she could not communicate using them. "At that time David, and the rest of us, didn't really understand the phenomenon ourselves. So we weren't as cautious then, as we've become since."

Anyway, David and Sophie became fast childhood friends for a while after that. Until they were found out. By pure chance, another boy came upon them when they were playing barefoot in the stream, and he noticed the six-toed imprint. David and Sophie fled to Sophie's parents, who immediately decided to pack up everything and flee the district; at the same time begging David to cover for their flight as long as possible by staying in the house overnight.

David did that, but next morning on returning to his own house he was waylaid by his father and the Inspector, who already knew something of the story. David did his best to keep the secret, despite enduring a savage flogging: but to no avail: later that day the fugitives were caught. They were taken to Kentak where Sophie was separated from her parents, taken to Rigo for the sterilisation operation, then banished to the Fringes. Of her parents no further word was heard.

"And so, it appears, this Sophie then drops out of the story, until she is re-discovered by the thought-shapers, some years later," suggested Peter. "Am I right?"

"Yes, more or less," admitted Michael.

"Hmmm. Interesting. You say David was very attached to Sophie, when they were together? Despite knowing she was a Deviant; despite all the warning notices in his own household?"

"It certainly looks like it."

"And when she was captured, David suffered a flogging—a very brutal flogging by all accounts, if I've understood his father's character here. Yet he still didn't betray the fugitives. You say they were caught purely by chance, many miles away. Then the next thing David does is tell his thought-shape companions the whole story—a story he'd carefully concealed from them up till then. Why just then?"

"I suppose he reckoned, there was no point in keeping it secret any longer," suggested Michael.

"I think there's more to it than that... I think up to that point, David was head-over-heels in love with Sophie. As far as ten-year-olds can be 'in love', of course. Then when she was cruelly snatched from him, he felt some remorse, of course—but it soon became supplanted by a stronger instinct: that of survival. Sophie could conveniently be sacrificed. From then on, the needs of the thought-shapers suddenly became the prime imperative. For David, and for the other people in his group—including Rachel and yourself—"

Michael could contain himself no longer. "How can you possibly make assumptions like that? How dare you! You, who have never met any of the others: just Rachel and me... I, who have known David ever since we were children ... who met Sophie and escorted her back to Waknuk ... dammit, I even _slept_ with the woman..."

"I thought that would come out," said Peter. "It was obvious from what you said up till now. Don't worry, we shan't press for details: we aren't running an Inquisition—but it's certainly far better that that sort of admission comes from you, rather than being forced out of you by us.

"Suffice to say, you accompanied Sophie to Waknuk, and at some point you slept with her. But clearly it was not a lasting relationship. Listen, Michael, and you too Rachel—the more we know about you, the better we can decide how best to help you.

"So—apart from the dalliance with Sophie, was there anything else of import during your return to Waknuk?"

"Not much—except that we had to kill a man just before we got to Waknuk itself. Dammit, he shot our horse first—and the bullet would have come straight at me if the horse hadn't got it first. And it was Sophie who actually killed the man. I reckon she's had practice—which I haven't..."

"All right. I'll say no more. So you came to Waknuk—and I'm guessing that's where you were reunited with Rachel. And by that time Sophie had more or less informed you that it was all over between you and her. Remarkably resilient, that girl! First David, and now you..."

"As I'm sure you understand, there couldn't have been anything between David and Sophie. Dammit, they were only ten years old! Why the innuendo?" Peter said nothing. "But I think there were others before me," added Michael. "Sophie mentioned someone called the Spider-man—Gordon—whom she probably bedded, back in the Fringes. When he was killed, she sort of latched on to me..."

"We're learning quite a lot about Sophie, aren't we? Are there any more details you've left out? Like—say—Sophie beginning to acquire the power of thought-shapes herself?"


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

This bombshell was more than Michael could stomach. He remained mute—though of course silence can be revealing. He looked around at the others in the room, but not one of them was willing to come to his rescue. He knew it would be he—and only he—who could answer that question.

In the end he weakly muttered, as before: "How do you come to that conclusion?" But he knew there was some truth in what Peter was saying. "Do you have behind-thinks, like Petra did?"

" 'Behind-thinks'? Ah, I think I get it. Thought-shapes you're not supposed to catch, yes? No, not in the way that Petra did, at any rate. Though maybe my powers are more developed than some others' perhaps? No, I think my only advantage is that of having lived a good deal longer than any of you—lived in relative safety, as you can see—of having learned in all the long years how to ration my use of the dangerous thought-shapes to the absolute minimum. As you can also see. My powers may indeed be more developed than any of yours', but used sparingly.

"But continue. I take it you reached Waknuk without further mishap. And were reunited with Rachel here."

"Yes. We skirted well clear of Waknuk itself—I mean the original farmhouse after which the village was named. For obvious reasons. Rachel's house is about a mile to the west, and had not yet then fallen under suspicion. When we got there, we found a surprise: well two surprises really. Rachel's Mum, Amelia, appeared to have a bit of the thought-shape powers herself—though only in a rudimentary fashion, without the ability to transmit or receive herself. But she already knew about us, and she knew about Sophie. It was she who suggested we change her name to Stephanie—so that's what she's been called, ever since."

"Good choice," said Peter. "Not too different, but enough to put pursuers off the scent hopefully. I take it she approves of the new name..."

"Absolutely. But the second surprise was even more unexpected. Mark, the last of our Waknuk group, turned up out of the blue. Mark, who we thought was dead! Apparently he'd been ill and had lost some of his powers, but he was very much alive."

"Well, that is a surprise!" put in Peter. Michael waited for him to say more, but that appeared to be all he had to contribute.

"Indeed," continued Michael. "Once he realised he wasn't getting through, he decided to contact us in person, as soon as he was fit enough. He arrived a day after us. Some of his thought-shape powers are indeed coming back to him, though it's a slow process."

"Where is he now?"

"That's one of the problems. We don't quite know. Since it was dangerous even for him to remain in the Waknuk area, he was going to wait a while, then follow us to Kentak. And maybe even as far as Rigo. With Sophie—Stephanie—for company. They seem to have become good friends."

" 'Good friends'?" interposed Peter, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Yes. Just 'friends'. Anyway, they contacted us before we left Kentak. Since then—nothing."

"Well, there's a remote possibility they've turned north, just as you did. But unlikely: unless they were facing close pursuit, as you were, they're more likely to have kept to the road direct to Rigo. We can't reach that far, in thought-shapes. Someone could make a trip south, see if they can contact Mark on the road. But I don't hold out much hope...

"And meanwhile: what do we do with you two? Any plans?"

"We want to continue on to Rigo as soon as possible," put in Rachel. "If you won't send anyone to accompany us, we'll go on our own. No argument."

"No. I'd strongly advise against that—sorry! Winter is fast approaching and the weather will be bitterly cold and stormy. Even if you make it to Rigo, there's little chance you'll find a ship willing to put to sea at this time of year. Whatever you're planning at Rigo, it'll just have to wait till the spring. So my advice is: stay with us for a few weeks. We'll be glad of the company, all of us. You can help with the farm—I didn't tell you we have a farm, too, did I? Just a couple of fields on the edge of the village, we grow a few vegetables and some wheat and oats there. And stable some of our own horses, as well as a few from others in the village—and yours, of course. Also we keep a few pigs and chickens. And meanwhile I have my book to finish..."

"Your book?"

"Yes. Didn't Justin mention, I write books? I'm hoping to finish the one I'm working on, in the next few weeks."

"What's it called?" asked Michael, who remembered the adventure stories he'd found and enjoyed, in the library at Kentak, during his schooldays.

"_Pre-Tribulation Communities in Labrador_. A pretty dull sort of title, you'll admit, even for a history work. By the way, I don't like the expression 'Old People' very much. I've been researching quite a lot, and I know plenty of things you won't have been taught at school, Michael. For example, I'd heard of the Waknuk community even before Petra's little outburst. There was a town at that place before Tribulation, but it was called Wabush, not Waknuk. No record of any settlement where Kentak now stands, though."

Michael and Rachel were both interested now. "And Rigo?" asked Rachel.

"The name seems to be derived from a pre-Tribulation settlement called Rigolet, out on the coast—but the present-day Rigo isn't quite in the same place as Rigolet, which was completely inaccessible except by boat—when the sea wasn't frozen."

"Was the sea frozen often, back then? And what sort of people could live here?"

"Yes. And nowhere near as many as Labrador's population, now. As far as I can work out, there were two distinct tribes in this area. One of them was similar to present-day Labradoreans, but they didn't farm the land. It was too cold. Instead they grew trees for timber and mined the rocks for minerals. And did some fishing. You'll be surprised to learn that they spoke two distinct languages. One was like the one we used today: English, but the other was quite different. French, it was called—and it originated in Europe..."

"Europe! We've heard about that. One of the places we want to get to."

"Well, I wish you luck—if Europe still exists. And further north, here in Labrador and the islands further north, there seems to have lived a tribe who could endure the cold far better than we could. They too had their own language, called Inuit. They passed their lives mainly in fishing and hunting the seal. I believe some of their descendants still live in the far north of Labrador."

"And what about the name of this village? 'Ragnarok'?" asked Rachel, remembering the name she had copied onto the map.

"Well, that's one of my puzzles—but perhaps my most interesting discovery. Although it looks like a Labradorean word, all my research seems to indicate that it isn't. Certainly not derived from any local pre-Tribulation settlement—if there ever was one here: evidence says not. One source indicates that it's simply the word for 'Tribulation' in some unknown, forgotten language. Perhaps an early settler, a speaker of that language, made the first homestead here shortly after Tribulation itself, and wanted to remember. But I'm more inclined to believe another legend, which says, it's the name of one of the gods who actually brought Tribulation down upon us."

"**One** of the Gods? But we've all been taught that there's only ever been one God, sometimes referred to as 'Lord', sometimes as 'Jehovah'—and that He doesn't have any other names..."

"Aha. Yes, that's what you would have been taught in Waknuk and Kentak, no doubt. No: the pre-Tribulation folks, around the world, had many different gods, all with different names and different characters..."

Both Michael and Rachel found this hard to digest. It went against all the teaching they'd had, and it made them uncomfortable. Peter sensed their uneasiness.

"Some things you learn about won't be easy. I know that. But let's leave it for now. I'd like to show you both around the house, the village, and our fields. Then I'll leave it to you to think about staying for a while. Don't worry, you'll be able to continue on your trip to Rigo in time."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

As they were walking through the village with Peter, Tim, and Big Rachel, both Michael and Rachel felt uneasy about Peter's revelation—if there was any chance of it being true. Even though both of them had despised the strict religious orthodoxy delivered by the likes of Joseph Strorm, the concept of 'different' gods—maybe with equal validity to the one they'd been taught about, was something difficult to accept. For a while they were silent.

"This is our house," announced Big Rachel presently, as they reached a small cottage. "Won't you please come in for a moment? It's smaller than Peter's and Justin's: that's why when we meet up it's usually in their house. But it's cosy enough for the two of us."

So they were taken for a quick tour of Tim and Rachel's home: one floor only, just a living room, bedroom, and kitchen with a big fireplace. They had no bathroom but a tin bath propped up against the kitchen wall proclaimed its utility—as did the outside privy. But the cottage was very neat and tidy—testifying to Big Rachel's house-proud sensibilities. In the back yard there were several skins of familiar animals—no Deviations amongst them, it seemed—stretched out on frames to dry and cure.

Tim and Big Rachel remained at their home. As the others returned to the street, the sun was setting. Peter suggested there was just enough daylight for them to do a quick tour of the fields at the back of the row of cottages. He pointed out those that belonged to him and Justin: a few rows of cabbages and potatoes, the rest dug over and awaiting sowing of next season's crops. Then they returned to Peter's and Justin's home in the twilight.

"Dinner in a few minutes," announced Justin. "I'm afraid neither my Dad nor I are as good cooks as Rachel, but we do our best. Hope you'll be satisfied."

As indeed they were. A generous helping of roast pork, with cabbage, potatoes, and gravy, followed by a big apple pie, which Rachel had to admit to herself, despite her cookery skills, that she couldn't have bettered.

After dinner Peter entertained them with more details that he had discovered about the history of Labrador. He spoke some short sentences in the 'French' language which he had learned in the course of his research. Both Michael and Rachel were baffled by the incomprehensible words, but Justin nodded smugly and then continued the speech, clearly even more fluent in the language than his father. Then they proceeded to teach Michael and Rachel some words of the language. "Just for fun," remarked Justin, "but who knows? If you really do cross the sea to Europe, you may meet up with the original French speakers. If they still speak that language..."

Eventually Michael and Rachel were sent off to bed. Peter warned them that next day they would come to the decision: whether they were to stay with them over the winter, or press on—but he repeated his urging them to stay.

They woke up the next morning to see heavy snowfall outside, which was already settling on the ground. In the circumstances, they needed no further persuasion to come to the decision to remain put until the weather turned more favourable. As Rachel whispered to Michael, before breakfast, "If we can't trust these people, who **can** we trust?" Michael remembered how they had trusted Beth, and how it had almost come unstuck. They had got away, nonetheless, without more than a little embarrassment.

Peter explained that the cold weather with snowfalls usually didn't last more than six weeks—after then it would turn warmer again. And, to their great delight, Peter announced that he was thinking of coming with them, part of the way. He had been to Rigo several times—researching for his books as he explained—and he expected to complete his work in progress just as the snows were melting. With a little help, he added. He suggested that both Michael and Rachel could both 'earn their keep' by helping around the house: Michael helping Justin outdoors, the work at present consisting mainly of feeding and looking after the animals, and cutting firewood, whilst Rachel would look after the house indoors, and help Peter with his book.

But Rachel wouldn't hear of this.

"You may think I'm just a weak little girl, but think again! I may be small but I'm pretty strong—and I've done plenty of hard physical work on the farm back in Waknuk. Let Michael help you with your book—he's the more educated of us, after all—while I work with Justin outside."

And she was as good as her word. She proved to be excellent at handling the axe and the saw. On the rare, short hunting trips in which she accompanied Justin (much to his astonishment), she also showed real skill with the gun and the bow and arrows. Meanwhile Michael, with growing fascination, was learning all kinds of unheard-of facts about Labrador and the surrounding countries, as he assisted Peter in sorting through his notes and writing up fair copies. Peter had a special interest in the lakes of Labrador.

"Labrador used to be a land with thousands of lakes," he explained. "Most of them have gone now, but there are still traces. When you passed Cuthal, you saw the lake which extends many miles to the north of the village. That lake is a survivor from pre-Tribulation days, and Cuthal is built on a pre-Tribulation settlement called 'Churchak', apparently—though whether it was so named because there was a notable church there, I don't know.

"And many miles to the southwest of here—further than Waknuk, in fact: it was possibly in your 'Wild country', but maybe not the part you visited—there used to be a fascinating lake, almost a perfect ring-shape. Most of it's gone now, but you can still make out the depression which it occupied. From what I can find out, it was created when a huge mass of rock hit the Earth, many millions of years ago. Lake Manag, it seems to have been called, though information is sketchy.

"Before Tribulation, most of the lakes in Labrador used to freeze over completely in the winter. Of course, they very rarely do so nowadays."

"Yes: we learnt at school about Labrador having been a very cold land. So Tribulation changed all that. But no-one seemed to know how or why. Have you any ideas?"

"You learned about carbon dioxide at school, didn't you? But I don't suppose they told you what happens when a lot of carbon dioxide escapes into the atmosphere. Well, there's a theory going round—not everyone believes it, though—that Tribulation was attended by widespread forest fires all around the Earth: all those lands which still had large amounts of forest, that is. Trees are mostly carbon, and when they burn it produces huge volumes of carbon dioxide. There's a curious effect when there's too much carbon dioxide in the air. It causes the Earth to get warmer all around. Apparently this wasn't a good thing: it led to the sea level rising, lots of storms, countless millions of people and animals dying, many areas which hadn't already been devastated by Tribulation becoming desert, and uninhabitable.

"And some people even claim that this was already happening _before_ Tribulation. There were many millions, hundreds of millions even, of people in the world back then, and they were burning too much wood and coal, to heat their houses and power their horseless carriages and such things. But I'm inclined to disbelieve this: I hardly imagine even the pre-Tribulation civilisations could have been so unwise and lacking in foresight."

"So you think Tribulation was not just a single cataclysm but a whole series of unrelated events, one after the other?"

"Michael, no-one really **knows** what Tribulation was. A lot of learned men claim that, in part, it was something to do with splitting apart 'atoms', which they say are the smallest bits into which any sort of matter can be divided. But how on earth that could be achieved, I've no idea."

Michael had much to think over in the next few weeks. He still understood little of Peter's theories and ideas, but he became quite adept at sorting, arranging, and transcribing Peter's work; Peter announced that as a result the book would be finished even sooner than expected. He explained that he would then have to take the manuscript to his publisher, some distance away in the direction of Rigo; then the book, after the publisher had checked it over and done some editing, would be sent off to Rigo itself to be printed. It was only in Rigo that a printing press existed, and a very precious piece of equipment it was.

Sometimes Michael swapped jobs with Rachel: going outside to help with the firewood and do some hunting with Justin. Although Rachel had well proved her stamina outside, she still welcomed the occasional break indoors. The snow was thawing fast—earlier than expected, Justin said—and they began to prepare the soil in one of the fields for sowing some crops: beans at first, Justin explained.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

The snow had almost gone, and it was getting warmer. The beans had been sown, and Justin was planning to sow out about an acre of oats—mainly for animal fodder. And a litter of piglets had been born, meaning more work for Rachel—and Michael, when he could drag himself away from Peter's study. One of the piglets was born with two tails: the first Deviation, Peter reported, that had been seen in the village for nearly eighteen months. There was none of the alarm that would have attended such an event in Waknuk. But, to avoid any arguments, they slaughtered the piglet and had a splendid roast dinner out of it.

Peter had finished his book and was anxious to get the manuscript to his publisher, some seventy miles to the east. Michael and Rachel were eager to accompany him, but already Michael was seriously wondering whether they ought to just stay in Ragnarok and settle down to the quiet rural life there. Even Rachel—once so anxious to get to Rigo—was beginning to come round to that idea. Peter had offered to lend them some money to enable them to set up their own smallholding, renting one of the empty cottages in the village.

But they hadn't counted on one thing...

The alarm came early one morning, just as Michael and Rachel were getting up from bed.

"_We've got company,"_ came in an urgent thought-shape from Tim—a rare occurrence for them now. _"Four of them; four men, with horses. Just been to our cottage, asking about any strangers seen recently. I think they're going from house to house..."_

"_Was one of them shortish, with long yellow hair tied in a pony-tail, by any chance?"_ put in Michael.

_"As a matter of fact, yes, there was. How did you—?"_

But Michael interrupted the incoming thought. "Shit!" he exclaimed, in words. "How the hell did they find us, here? Has someone peached on us?"

Peter and Justin both came bursting into their bedroom without knocking, having heard Tim's message and Michael's outburst; Rachel just managing in time to wrap a sheet about her, to preserve her modesty. "Quick!" hissed Peter, "Get dressed as quickly as possible, warm clothes, then into my study, hurry!"

As soon as Peter and Justin had left, Michael and Rachel dressed hurriedly and rushed into Peter's study, where he wrote his books. They saw that he and Justin had pushed the heavy desk to the side of the room and rolled up the carpet, exposing the floorboards, and Justin was now carefully levering up some of the boards with his knife: an artfully disguised trapdoor. In a moment he had it open, exposing a small, dark, and dank cellar beneath, with a stepladder leading down.

"Best we can do!" Peter whispered. "We planned this hideout many years ago, just in case... Down there quick! Sorry it's dark, and there's not much air—but hope you won't be there for too long. We'll do our best to get rid of the men. And no thought-shapes! We can't be sure..."

Indeed they were hardly down in the cellar before Justin threw down all their clothes after them: then he carefully closed the trapdoor, leaving them in pitch darkness. They could hear the sounds of the carpet being rolled back, and the desk being pushed back to its normal position. They were well and truly trapped, and very uncomfortable. They could hear Justin and Peter walking around above them—presumably to conceal all signs of their presence there. It was about five minutes later that they heard a thunderous knocking at the door, accompanied by shouts of "Open up!"

They could hear voices faintly from the living-room. "Inspector, Kentak district," one of them seemed to pronounce. "We're looking for a couple of criminal fugitives: seen any strangers around here lately? A young man and a young woman?"

"Criminals?" they heard Peter exclaim—perhaps a little louder than necessary, for their benefit. "What sort of criminals? What are they supposed to have done?"

"Murder and arson," another voice said. A voice which Michael vaguely recognised—the farm-hand from Sally's farm. _"Bastard!"_ he thought to himself. But the voice continued, "Suspected of having set fire to a farm in the Kentak district: burned completely to the ground, along with the people inside it Horrid business. And we also suspect them of being involved in the death of a traveller, who was found on the road alongside his horse and cart, a few miles south of there—killed by an arrow apparently. So: have you seen anybody fitting their description?" And he gave a fairly accurate description of Michael, with a much less so one of Rachel.

"Can't say as we have—have you, Justin?" answered Peter. They did not hear Justin's reply. The discussions dropped to a level they found more difficult to eavesdrop, but it seemed that the men were explaining themselves, not aggressively, while Peter was giving an account of his and Justin's set-up in the house. It appeared to be quite amicable. There were footsteps, constantly moving from room to room. The visitors seemed to be carrying out a thorough search of the entire house. Michael could only hope that their hosts had done a good job of hiding, or explaining away, any possessions of theirs which hadn't been thrown in the cellar.

There were some alarming moments when the footsteps returned to almost right above them, and there were sounds of the desk being shifted. But apparently the men were satisfied, and after more inaudible conversation they heard the front door close. Then silence for what seemed like an interminable time. Michael judged that it was fully half an hour, with the air becoming intolerably stuffy, before, to their immense relief, they heard the heavy desk being dragged aside and the carpet rolled up.

When the trapdoor was opened it was some time before they could recover from the blinding light. They thrust their spare clothes back through the hatch and then clambered stiffly out, to join Peter and Justin who were smiling broadly. It was a while before they were able to speak.

"I suppose this changes everything," said Michael, despairingly.

"Yes it does," agreed Peter. "But they haven't found you—yet—so keep your spirits up! We had some luck on our side. Justin was able to make up his bed in my room, so that it appeared not to have been slept in, and he made a good pretence of having slept in your room. And luckily we hadn't started preparing breakfast (I'm sure you're hungry!). They wanted to see the animals and the stable, so Justin took them round there. Then they appeared satisfied, and they left. They're probably pestering others in the village now. I don't think you'll be betrayed. They're obviously Inspectorate people, and such folk aren't well-liked in these parts. I think you'll find that our neighbours, those who have seen you, will be on your side. They won't mention our visitors."

"Did these men mention Deviations? Or Blasphemies?"

"No. Not once. All the talk was of 'common criminals'. I suppose they realised that talk of Deviations would carry far less weight, or alarm, in this part of Labrador, than it does in the West. After all, as you've seen, it's hardly a problem for us. And I'm quite sure they never once suspected Justin and me—nor Tim and Big Rachel—of being thought-shapers.

"Oh, and I went round to Tim and Rachel's, while Justin was showing our 'visitors' round the stables. It was dangerous—but perhaps the only option—for Tim to contact you by thought-shape. There's always a risk that they'd have someone in their team who could detect thought-shapes. But luckily that doesn't seem to have been the case. And Tim's house was searched all over—just like ours—but nothing there seems to have raised any suspicions.

"But you'll have to leave—almost at once. Your luck won't hold out: they're sure to be back. I'm coming with you, at least part of the way." Both Michael and Rachel could barely conceal their joy at this news. "I know some trails which those men will hardly be able to find, let alone follow," continued Peter. "But we'll have to go on horseback: I was hoping to take the cart, but it can't be used on the trails."

"But how the hell did they find this place?" put in Michael. "We're miles from anywhere. What on Earth drew them to this village?"

"Hard to say," replied Peter. "I did ask them, why didn't they follow the road to Rigo, seeing as that's where most fugitives will surely head for? They said they had done, for quite a long way, but then they reckoned they'd lost the trail: you must have turned off somewhere before then. So they backed up quite a long way, debating amongst themselves as to whether you'd turned north or south. They thought north more likely, seeing as that way is more sparsely populated. I countered by suggesting that south would be quite a good option: amongst the larger and more frequent villages it'd be easier to 'lose' oneselves. I hope I sounded convincing.

"But once they'd decided to strike north, they'd certainly have made enquiries at all the shops and inns they came across. You mentioned that you stopped a couple of nights at the inn in Cuthal. That was rather unwise of you—I suppose you thought you were in 'safe' territory by then—but it can't be helped now. The innkeeper is sure to have remembered you—especially since you had the cheek to ask to copy his map! The shopkeepers might have remembered, too. Cuthal is one of the biggest villages in this part of Labrador. I don't know whether you were betrayed, but not everyone there can be trusted. And I believe you even mentioned that you were going to head east or south-east! Once your pursuers reached Cuthal, having that information, it would have narrowed down their search quite a lot!

"So: we move as soon as we can get everything ready. It's lucky your horses are in good shape: you can thank us for that!"


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

It took the rest of the day for Michael and Rachel to pack everything they needed to take with them, and get ready to continue their long journey. Peter insisted that they should start the following morning: he felt confident that they wouldn't be surprised during the night.

"Travelling by night has its advantages, of course, if you're being followed: but in this part of Labrador, at this time of year, it's too dangerous. Especially on horseback. Even though I know the country around here pretty well, we'd be sure to lose the trail. No: we'll take our chances and set off tomorrow morning. If the men return, Justin will cover for me, after all he only has to tell them I've set off to meet my publisher. Which is perfectly true, as it happens. Let's hope they don't notice that four horses are missing from the stable..."

"**Four** horses?"

"Yes. Rachel and you will, of course, ride your own, and I'll be riding one of ours. And another to carry most of our baggage. That way we'll be able to travel faster and easier. But we absolutely **must** have our horses back, some time. Our plan leaves Justin with only one horse of our own, in case he has to go off somewhere. Of course he may be able to borrow another horse from the villagers—many of them are in our stables after all. But there's a risk."

More than a small risk, Michael thought, as he and Rachel settled down for the night. Both of them found it hard to sleep: every time there was a noise outside, be it only a dog barking, or a horse stamping its feet in the stables, they started up in great anxiety. They could hear owls hooting in the nearby forest, something they had never noticed up till then—and that kept them awake too. Just before dawn they finally snatched an hour or two of sleep.

It was still early twilight when Peter woke them. "All ready?" he announced. They quickly dressed, ate a hurried breakfast, and wrapped themselves up in their furs: how grateful they were to have them! They bid farewell to Justin, who wished them a safe journey: Rachel flung herself at him and kissed him full on the mouth, passionately if somewhat over-exuberantly. The horses were already saddled outside: they were just loading up the pack-horse when Tim and Big Rachel appeared, leading another horse.

"I'm coming with you," announced Big Rachel. Michael and Rachel could only gape, utterly astonished. "You're better off with four than with three, and Tim can spare me for a few weeks. He hasn't got much work on at the moment, and he's getting pretty good at keeping house and doing the cooking. If the men return and ask questions, he'll easily make up a story: say I'm visiting my sick mother in another village."

Although Michael and Rachel—and Peter too, for that matter—protested that they could have managed quite all right, just the three of them, Big Rachel was insistent. In the end they needed little persuasion: they were after all utterly delighted to have the extra company. And Big Rachel was a good horsewoman, and an excellent cook, well skilled at cooking in the wild. They would be grateful for that.

Tim announced that he had seen the men departing the village, late the previous day, going south. There was a faint hope that they had heeded Peter's misleading 'advice' and set about searching the land south of the Rigo highway. If so, it would take them several days even to reach the crossing point. At any rate, there was a good chance of not encountering them on the journey. But they would need to be cautious.

They bade farewell to Tim and set off. Peter led them south out of the village, back along the road they had come by. After a little less than an hour they reached the fork where the other road joined, from Lemban. They continued south for another half mile, then Peter turned off to the left, taking an almost invisible trail to the east. The ground was stony here, surrounding a small stream, and the horses' hooves left no imprint.

Michael remembered, with some amusement, how careful he had been to cover their tracks, when they had left the road out of Kentak while being pursued. Clearly he and Peter thought alike!

The new trail was uneven and difficult to follow, but both Peter and Big Rachel knew the way. There were places where they had to dismount and lead the horses. And there were many streams they had to cross. Some of them in spate from melting snow—quite treacherous. Peter's and Big Rachel's horses, as well as their pack-horse, were more adept at these crossings than Michael's or Rachel's, born and bred in Waknuk district, where there were fewer watercourses and snow was less common.

They bivouacked just as dusk was falling, under the shelter of a tree growing against a large boulder. Big Rachel lit a fire and cooked two rabbits that she had shot with bow and arrow, proving herself a skilled hunter—which made Michael envious. At least they enjoyed a hearty meal—better than anything they'd been able to eat while out in the wild, before they came to Ragnarok.

They had also loaded the pack-horse with a tent and some blankets, so they would be able to sleep quite comfortably. But after supper they sat up by their fire, talking long about the recent events.

"Why do you suppose 'Yellow-Hair' was pursuing us so far?" muttered Michael, plaintively. This was how he and Rachel had dubbed the farm-hand who was chasing them. "What has he got against me, that he goes after us again and again? After all, we only met once—at Sally's farm, where he simply ordered me to 'clear off'. Why should he have thought I was a Deviant in the first place? I only asked if Sally was there. I could have been an old friend, knowing nothing of her thought-shape powers, or her arrest and torture."

"He was probably working for your local Inspector," suggested Peter. "Didn't you say, you saw them side by side at Rachel's father's funeral?"

"Yes—but no! The Waknuk district inspector was firm but fair. He had to enforce the Purity laws, and he was quite strict where local Deviations were concerned—but he wouldn't have sent out a posse all the way across Labrador, chasing a Deviant who had clearly left the district and was unlikely to return. That wasn't his style. He wasn't obsessive in that way. I knew him: he wouldn't act like this."

"OK, then. There were others in your district. What about Joseph Strorm, David's father? There we had, by all accounts, a man obsessed with ridding the whole of Labrador of Deviants. Could he have recruited him?"

"Strorm is dead, you remember. Killed by his own brother, in the Fringes battle. He'd set out in pursuit of his own children almost immediately after they fled. He wouldn't have had time to recruit Yellow-Hair—if he only did so after Sally and Katherine were arrested. Unless he got at him long before then..."

"Someone else then. I seem to remember, you said that at the episode with Petra's dead pony, a stranger stumbled on the scene? Someone rather suspicious?"

"That's right. A man named Jerome Skinner. I never met him: luckily both of us had left the scene before he arrived. But both Sally and Katherine knew him apparently: they said he was something of a busybody in their district. And it could well have been he who brought the Inspector down onto them, got them arrested..."

"Could it be him?"

"No. David described him as a much older man. A pity I never saw him, or got a full description—but the only people who did see him are either dead or out of reach. I wonder if he had yellow hair... or perhaps his wife..."

"You mean, the young man you call 'Yellow-Hair' could be his son?"

"It's possible. And it would explain a lot. There are, I'm afraid, plenty more 'Strorms' in and around the Waknuk district, to replace the Strorm who's gone."

"Both of you are well out of that benighted place, then. Now, let's get some sleep, shall we?"

Both Peter and Big Rachel judged that, where they were at present, it was safe enough not to set a watch—and both Michael and Rachel needed a full night's sleep—so they all piled into the tent. It was cosy, and with the four of them crammed close together inside, it was comfortably warm. Both Michael and Rachel, still feeling the effects of their lack of sleep the night before, fell asleep almost immediately and slept soundly right through the night. At dawn, Michael woke, and crawled out of the tent. Big Rachel was already outside: she'd found a nearby stream and, stripped to the waist, she was busy washing herself. Catching sight of Michael, she turned and winked at him, without apparently any embarrassment. At that moment Rachel also appeared out of the tent. Seeing Big Rachel, she shrugged, pulled off her top, and joined her at the stream. Michael followed suit, a bit shyly. There was no sign of Peter yet.

"I'll get us something for breakfast," said Big Rachel at last, drying herself off, putting on her blouse and jacket, and grabbing her bow and arrows. She disappeared off round the far side of the boulder. A few minutes later Peter emerged, looking somewhat bleary-eyed. He went to the stream but merely splashed some water over his face and into his beard. He then re-lit the fire and started heating up some water.

Big Rachel wasn't long returning. Michael had half expected more rabbit for breakfast, but she was swinging a pair of large pigeons by their legs.

"Best I could manage this time—but it'll be enough for all of us. And we've got some bread and cocoa—enough to last a few days."

The pigeons took a while to cook over the fire, so the sun was already well up in the sky by the time they'd rolled up the tent, packed, and set off.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

As the horses slowly picked their way along the rough, and sometimes indistinct, trail, Michael was still musing over several thoughts in his mind that he was still not satisfied about. At a wider stretch of the trail, he brought his horse up alongside Peter's.

"About that burned-out farm, Peter: you know, the one Rachel and I are accused of torching—I can only suppose that Yellow-Hair was referring to Katherine's farm, back home, which I came across when I went out looking for her, totally gutted. So my guess is, he and his mates probably burnt the place down themselves, and then tried to frame us. The _bastard_!"

"Very likely," replied Peter. "My guess is, Katherine's parents tried to shield her, and they ended up paying the 'ultimate penalty'. Whether they were really burnt alive, or simply shot—who can tell? I think the latter more likely."

"But Sally's farm escaped torching, and was still working. Why the difference? I'm now remembering something Sally told us, just before her arrest. She said Jerome Skinner was a friend of her father's. Was it possible that Sally's _father_ had a hand in putting the screws on Sally—and Katherine?"

"David's father, Joseph, by your account, was murderous and tyrannical. He was prepared to hunt down and exterminate _his own children_. So why not Sally's father, too?"

"So there _is_ someone still alive to carry on Strorm's work, it seems. That whole area, around Waknuk and Kentak, seems extremely dangerous, indeed," continued Michael. "We're lucky to be well away, even if we are being followed. I only hope Mark and Stephanie got away safely too.

"And speaking of Stephanie—yes it was she—Sophie—who shot the man they found on the southern road. But it was self-defence: he'd have killed us both if we hadn't acted. He killed our horse—well, as good as. It was so badly injured that I had to shoot it."

"Your mention of Mark and Stephanie—that's a good point," said Peter. "We're heading south-east now: I'm planning to intersect the Kentak to Rigo road some time. My publisher lives in a small village just south of that road. We could try contacting Mark once again when we reach the road. But my guess is, if they hit no obstacles, they should have reached Rigo weeks ago. They may well be wondering what's happened to you and Rachel. They may even be on board ship. You could try sending a thought-shape when you get closer to Rigo—but beware! Rigo is safer than Waknuk—but still not entirely safe for thought-shapers."

They continued along the trail in silence, most of the time in single file. At around midday, they crossed the road which Michael and Rachel had followed from Cuthal—but a good deal further east than where they had left that road. Peter urged caution, insisting that Michael and Rachel hold back, hiding as best they could in a clump of trees, while he and Big Rachel went ahead to reconnoitre.

They soon returned with signs of relief. "Not a soul to be seen anywhere," announced Peter. "But it's not safe for us to continue even on this road for too long. About three miles further, there's another narrow trail leading south. We'll follow that as far as the Rigo road, where we'll need to take care again."

They urged their horses into a gentle trot, for which the horses seemed to be relieved. As Peter had promised, three miles on they came upon the trail to the right. As with the other places where they had left the road, the ground was stony, and there was a stream crossing the road at this point. They had picked their way along the trail for about twenty minutes when Peter pronounced a stop for lunch. There was a small wood behind them, between them and the road, and Peter was fairly certain that they could not be seen from it. But he firmly refused to let them light a fire. "The rising smoke might be seen from the road: we're not far enough away, and we can't take any chances." Even Big Rachel protested at this, saying that she was quite capable of starting a fire making very little smoke, but Peter was adamant. So they had to resort to bread, cheese, and ham, plus some of the few apples they'd brought along with them.

So they continued. The weather had turned colder again, and there were brief flurries of snow, although none of it was settling. In the evening they halted once again in the shelter of a small cliff. Once again Big Rachel demanded that they light a fire: "If we don't, we'll freeze to death, and how will that help us?" At length Peter relented: they were further from the road, the smoke wouldn't be seen once it got dark, and the cliff was between them and the road.

So, in the last of the daylight, Big Rachel managed to down another brace of pigeons with her bow, and they enjoyed a heartier supper than they'd expected. That night they set a watch, and Michael, who once again found it hard to sleep, took Rachel's watch as well as his own.

They continued in this manner for another three days. At length, in the afternoon of the fourth day, they saw the wider Rigo road ahead. Once again Peter asked Michael and Rachel—and Big Rachel as well, this time—to hold back, while he surveyed the road alone.

At this point they put out a cautious thought-shape, hoping to raise Mark, but without success.

This time the road was not deserted. There were several travellers making their way in both directions, some with horse and cart, some on horseback, some on foot. It was fully half an hour before Peter came back and pronounced the road safe to cross.

"This time we'll be going straight across: the trail continues on the other side, thankfully. But it soon turn east and runs parallel to the main road. We'll have to be specially careful. And, although it leads almost straight to the village we're aiming for, it'll be a lot slower than if we continued on the road—but that can't be helped."

It was another two days of cheerless picking their way along the difficult trail—for once again Peter forbade the lighting of any fires. At last, as daylight was fading on the third day, they caught site of a cluster of houses and a church ahead, which Peter explained was 'Poztak'—the name of the village where his publisher, Samuel, like Peter a widower, lived. Eagerly, they hastened towards the village.

But now they had a setback. Peter knocked on the door of Samuel's house, and the housekeeper appeared. She explained, apologetically, that Samuel wasn't there: a few days ago he'd set out to see the printers in Rigo, and he wasn't expected back for another two weeks.

Peter was now at a loss. He said they couldn't risk staying—at least, not all four of them—at Poztak for two whole weeks. He'd been hoping that Samuel, as was his custom, would invite him to stay at the house for a day or two while they went over the manuscript—but that was a favour he couldn't ask of the housekeeper. There was no inn at Poztak: even if there had been one, he could not have afforded to stay the whole time. In any case, it had been his intention to send the others on to Rigo without him. He wondered whether to stick to this plan.

At length he made his mind up. "I'll come along to Rigo, after all. I really do need to catch Samuel, and we can get there in about three days—_on the road_. Of course it'll be risky, but if Samuel returns early, that'll be the way he'll be coming, and I can't afford to miss him. We just have to hope against hope that your pursuers followed my suggestion and struck south. If so, good luck to them!" he added, with a smile.

So they retreated along the trail they had come by, until they were out of sight of the village, and made camp. Once again without a fire, and once again they set a watch. The next morning they returned to the village and took the road leading north out of it a short distance, until it joined the main road.

Having no other option, they turned east and urged their horses to a fast trot—which once again the horses seemed to enjoy. Michael and Rachel both guessed that they were in need of the exercise. They passed several travellers on the road, but merely exchanged "Good day"s with them, without a hint of any suspicion. The four of them gave the appearance of being just ordinary travellers, after all. They also passed, from time to time, a Mail-coach: the light Mail, drawn by four horses, or the heavy Mail, drawn by six. The Mail driver of course did not deign to greet them: he merely blew his horn as he approached, signalling to them to leave the road clear for his passage—but he did doff his hat briefly as he passed them.

Of Yellow-Hair and his accomplices, they saw no sign.

They could not, of course, camp on the road itself, so in the evenings they looked for trails leading to either side, along which they could retreat until out of sight of the road, and make camp. For most of the nights they were lucky—and Peter even relented so far as to allow them to light fires. Other travellers on the road would do likewise, he admitted, and a column of smoke, or even the light of a fire itself, wouldn't be remarked upon. Sometimes they were unable to find a trail and had to force their way across country, often picking their way through dense forest. But they did not have to stray far off the road on these occasions. Each night, as previously, they set a watch, but were undisturbed.

The villages became much more frequent, now, and they had to pause at the shop more than once. They were running low in provisions, and Big Rachel couldn't exercise her hunting skills very often now. Peter insisted on going into the shops alone: he was known to many of the shopkeepers and wouldn't have aroused suspicion.

At length they found themselves at the top of a high hill, looking down towards what seemed like an endless lake about two miles off, fading into the distance both to the north-east and the south-west.

"Rigo's just down there, on the north shore of that lake: in fact it's a sea inlet, not a lake—although it's called a lake: Lake Melf," announced Peter. "It'll be your first taste of salt water! But you'll see.

The first thing to do, even before descending to the city, was to try and contact Mark and Stephanie once more. Rachel took upon herself that task, being the one most attached to Mark. But, despite her sending out her strongest possible thought-shape, they detected nothing.

Rachel was close to tears once again, but Michael took her in his arms and tried to comfort her. "Perhaps they haven't reached Rigo? Perhaps they stayed in Kentak after all? Perhaps it's just that they're asleep? We don't have to fear the worst. Not yet."

Big Rachel looked a bit uneasy. She waited until Rachel had more or less composed herself once more. Then she announced "This is where I turn back. I don't really need to come down with you into Rigo itself, especially seeing as you've got Peter with you—and I didn't want to leave Tim on his own for so long. I'm sure you'll manage fine from now on. I'll do my best to contact Mark as I travel west. If I do so, I'll get word sent to you.

"But beware, Rachel and Michael (I don't need to warn Peter)! Rigo is safer than where you came from, but there are still spies and informers around the city. If you must send thought-shapes, do so with extreme caution. And best of luck!"

The others could only thank Big Rachel profusely for coming so far and for her help. They wished her a safe journey back, a bit fearful for her safety: but she made light of it. "I can go back along the road, no need to cut across country. I should get back much more quickly than we came here. And I know the country pretty well. So good-bye all!"

She re-mounted her horse and rode back along the road until she was out of sight.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Rigo! The city teemed with people, more than either Michael or Rachel had ever seen in one place before. The streets were crowded: almost blocked with people walking, horses, carts—and the shops! The restaurants! The strange, exotic foods and other produce on sale. Peter guided them round: introduced them to something called 'chocolate'—they recognised that it had a family resemblance to the cocoa they were accustomed to drinking, but this was a novelty. A delectable sweetmeat with a taste all of its own. Also a fragrant drink called 'tea'. This was a strange taste to them at first, entirely new to both Michael and Rachel. But they soon became addicted to it and its reviving qualities. Peter told them that there could also be found in Rigo another exotic drink called 'coffee'—but he'd break them into that gently. It took some getting used to, he said.

Rachel asked, what were these drinks made from? Peter explained that the raw materials grew in much warmer places, further south, and were brought to Rigo by sea. Perhaps, in their travels, they might visit such places...

But the strangest thing of all, to Michael and Rachel, was the diversity in the people they saw thronging the streets. Several had eyes unlike any they had seen in Labrador before: narrower than the eyes of all the people he had known—and they also had high cheek-bones. Michael asked, were these mutants? Peter replied, no, they were descendants of the Inuit, an authentic pre-Tribulation race of people—as he had already explained to them before—who had lived in the far north of Labrador and beyond.

Michael muttered, half jokingly, "They'd certainly be classed as Mutants if they strayed as far as Waknuk. Though perhaps, with Strorm gone, the treatment wouldn't be so harsh..."

"Don't _ever_ call them Mutants, even in jest, if you come to meet any Inuit," retorted Peter, somewhat angrily. "The same goes for some others you're about to meet. None of the people living in Rigo are Mutants in the true sense of the word. And don't you forget it! You'll be learning a lot about human diversity while you're here—and on your travels.

"But come now. I have to find Samuel, and I'd like to introduce you to him. He'll be interested."

Peter led them through the bewildering maze of streets. Michael remembered how familiar he had been with the streets of Kentak, but this place was ten times bigger. Without Peter they'd have been lost in a few minutes. Peter explained that Samuel was probably staying at one of the many inns in Rigo: he wasn't quite sure which. He might be in his room, he might be having a meal or drinking at a bar, or he might be at the printer's. They couldn't be sure.

They tried several inns until they struck lucky. At the fourth inn they enquired at, the landlord told them: yes, Samuel was staying there, and he believed he was in his room at the time. So they quickly arranged stabling for their horses, went up to Samuel's room, and knocked on the door; a voice called "Who is it?" and Peter announced himself, then they heard a cheerful "Come in!"

Samuel came forward to greet them, and he and Peter enthusiastically embraced one another: they were clearly old friends of long standing. But Michael and Rachel could only gape. Peter had told them about the many different types of people to be found in Rigo, but this man, Samuel, was in a class of his own. Skin dark, in fact almost completely black, short greying hair, tightly curled, unlike any hair they had seen before. The shape of the nose and lips also seemed alien to them...

After Peter had introduced his companions, and he and Samuel had exchanged a few words in conversation, Peter explaining their mission, Samuel caught Michael and Rachel staring. He chuckled. "New to you, am I? Don't worry, I'm cool. And I don't live in Rigo, I live out west in a village called Poztak." Michael and Rachel nodded. "Folks out there find me strange, too. Some of them call me a 'Mutant'—which I don't particularly care for—but I'm used to it. I've never been further west than Peter's house in Ragnarok. I'm told folks get more and more suspicious and intolerant the further west you go."

Michael nodded again. He was remembering something David had told him, years ago. Something he had learned from his much-travelled Uncle Axel:

'_...there are even said to be some islands where both the men and the women would be passed as true images if it weren't that some strange Deviation has turned them all completely black...'_

Michael tried a long shot. "Mr... er... Mr..."

"Oh, call me Samuel, please. Everyone else does."

Michael continued "Er... Samuel, do you come from an island down South?"

"No, I don't: I was born here in Rigo—but others have asked me that same question. And my parents sailed north to Rigo before I was born, from an island called Barbados, many thousands of miles to the south. I have a brother and two sisters living here in Rigo. Yes, they look like me. And there are several others. My late wife was one. She too was born in Rigo, of parents who sailed from the South."

"**Thousands **of miles?**"** put in Rachel.

"Yes, thousands. Perhaps you folk don't realise how big the world is. Of course, you guys from out west, with your rather blinkered view of the world—" Michael scowled, but said nothing "—probably think the world is flat, or something."

"I have had **some** schooling," retorted Michael, not a little annoyed. "But they never taught me about your folk. So your ancestors, from before Tribulation, really looked like you?"

"Yes. And a hard time my folk had, back then. You wouldn't have been taught that, either. You'd have been told how wonderful and civilised and well-behaved the Old People were, the _white_ Old People that is (we call folks with your skin colour 'white'). Well, they weren't! Some of them treated us black folk abominably. Kept us as slaves for hundreds of years, according to some accounts. And even after the laws changed, and white folks weren't allowed to keep slaves any more, we were still cruelly mistreated in some parts of the world. That's what some of your Old People were like. And all this happened long before Tribulation..."

Michael and Rachel both kept silent. Both of them were shocked: they had much to think about.

"But anyway," continued Samuel, "I have work to do: much business to discuss with Peter about his new book: we have to go over all the text and see if it's fit for publishing. Never been to Rigo before, have you? I tell you what, why don't you call on my son Benjamin and his wife? Peter will show you where he lives, won't you Peter? It's not far from here. When I come to Rigo I stop here at the inn, instead of at their house, because the grandchildren would pester me all the time and interfere with my work."

Peter at once agreed to show them to Benjamin's house. He left his completed manuscript with Samuel: then the three of them went down to the street again and threaded their way on foot through yet more intricate corners and turnings. As soon as they were a little way away from the inn, Michael asked the question which had been nagging at him ever since they'd met Samuel.

"Is Samuel—can he do—thought-shapes? Does he know about them—about you?

"No," replied Peter. "He isn't a telepath, nor is his son. And no—I haven't told them. Samuel's a very good friend of mine, and I'm sure he's trustworthy—as, certainly, is Benjamin—but it doesn't do to burden them with secrets which are dangerous to possess, does it? So no talk of thought-shapes, and certainly **no using thought-shapes**, while we're at Benjamin's! If the subject of your wishing to flee Labrador altogether crops up, and we need a cover-story, we'll think of something. We could explain just how bigoted folk are, back at Waknuk and Kentak. You could have been guilty of aiding and abetting, or sheltering, Mutants, without being Mutants yourselves..."

"Yes, that makes sense. And something I've noticed about Norms (**no!**—why do I call non-thought-shapers 'Norms'? We're just as much Norms as they are: they're simply in a different world to ours). Anyway, some non-thought-shapers appear to be able to sense when we're using thought-shapes. Rachel's Mum had known for a long time—but then she'd raised two thought-shapers in the form of her own children: she was bound to discover. And there was Sophie—Stephanie. She wasn't a thought-shaper at first: still a very weak one—but she sensed pretty quickly when David was talking in thought-shapes. She sensed me too—when I got back in touch with Rachel. And David told us about Sophie's mum. Maybe it's the ones who have this power—telepathy—in them already, very weakly...

"And...I'm remembering something else. Rosalind was telling us, hastily, in thought-shapes, just as she, David and Petra were fleeing from Waknuk. About **her** mother, who'd **helped** her to pack. Who **knew** she had to fly for her life. _'She's sort of half-known, guessed something, for some time now. I don't know how much she's guessed—she never spoke about it at all. I think she felt that as long as she didn't have to admit it in words, it might be all right.'_ Do you think it runs in families, weak in some generations, strong in others—or is it just random?"

"Who knows? If it's random, then **anyone** in Rigo might be able to detect thought-shapes. So you're heeding my warning, yes?" put in Peter. "It's dangerous to use thought-shapes in the presence of strangers. Why do you think I've avoided using them, unless absolutely necessary, all these years?"

The evening was drawing in when, after about twenty minutes, they stopped at the door of a house in a rather dingy street. Peter knocked and a young man and woman came to open the door.

"Hi, Benjamin, hi, Laura, remember me?" announced Peter. They both replied, "Of course!" "I've just been to see your Dad, Benjamin. New book I'm hoping he'll publish. And I've brought some friends here to meet you, Rachel and Michael, here."

"Good to meet you," said Benjamin, with a smile. They noticed that, while his skin was as dark as his father's, Laura's skin was the same colour as theirs. So marriages between these very different-looking people did happen—in Rigo at least!


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

The three of them had barely crossed the threshold when three little girls—the eldest of them could not have been older than six, came romping towards them, delighted at the entrance of visitors. They crowded around Rachel, tugging at her clothes, and she swept up the youngest of them into her arms. Rachel was delighted: these were the first children she and Michael had met, since they left Waknuk.

"Well, the children certainly seem to have taken to you," laughed Laura. "It's their bed-time soon, but I'll let them stay up a bit longer, as a treat. And why don't you all have supper with us? It's on the stove now: I can easily put some more in the pot."

But Peter excused himself, saying he wanted to get back to Samuel, and would dine with him at the inn. He promised to book a room for them at the inn. It would be safe enough, under a false name, and this inn was quite easy-going: no questions would be asked and no demands for Normalcy cards: "You're Mr and Mrs Smith. Will that do? It used to be a very common name before Tribulation, though it's rare in present-day Labrador. Will you try to remember that?"

Michael and Rachel nodded. And Benjamin promised to show them the way back to the inn.

"And another thing. How are you for money?" asked Peter. Michael had to admit that they had very little left. Even if it had not been for Beth's raid on his purse, their cash had barely been enough to hold out during the last leg of their journey. Without Big Rachel's hunting prowess, they might well have starved before reaching Rigo.

"I'll lend you some," promised Peter. "I hope to be getting a decent advance on my book, from Samuel, once we've agreed terms. No—don't argue! You've already been a great help to us while you were staying at our place, and I'm really delighted to help you out, there. You can repay me whenever you're able to—even if it's not until you're across the ocean—"

Benjamin's eyes widened on hearing this. "You're planning to cross the sea?" he asked.

"Yes they are," put in Peter. "But they'll explain later. Thanks a lot: I've got to go." And with a wave, he was off.

After Laura had shoo'd the children off to their own bedroom to play—not without some difficulty!—Benjamin and Laura led the newcomers into the kitchen, where Laura busied herself at the stove, while Benjamin waved to the others to sit around the large table with him. He was about to ask them about their prospective ocean-crossing, but Michael got in first.

"So, what do you do, Benjamin?" Clearly their hosts were not farmers, not in the middle of a big city like this one—and Michael could see no sign of a workshop like the one he'd worked in at Kentak.

"I'm a doctor. I work at the main City hospital. Laura's currently staying at home looking after the kids, but before they were born, she was working at the same hospital, as a nurse. That's how we met."

"A **doctor**?" put in Rachel. Her concept of doctors was fairly limited: she had this picture of the elderly white-haired man who'd been visiting the house whilst her father was poorly, and had also come to certify Anne's death. And she also just about remembered, he'd come round when Anne and she were children, ill in bed, taken with the scarlet fever. A very different person from this young man. As to 'hospital', the word was almost unknown to her: certainly she'd never seen such a place.

But Michael had. "I've been to a hospital: there's one in Kentak—where we've come from. And I was taken there, once, from school, when I had a fever. Looks like three or four houses joined together, with their dividing walls knocked through. And all the rooms full of beds. And a team of old ladies to look after us. I was lucky: most people who get taken there, end up dying there."

"You'll find our City hospital a very different place," said Benjamin. "Our aim is to **cure** people, not to leave them to die. Of course it doesn't always work that way. But it's a large purpose-built building, certainly larger than your Kentak place. I'll show you around when I've got time. And we do lots of things you'll hardly have heard about. We have surgeons and operating theatres..."

"**Theatres?**" said Rachel. She was getting more and more bewildered at all this high-level talk: to her the word 'theatre' had a very different meaning.

"Yes," replied Benjamin, guessing at her puzzlement. "In this sense 'theatre' means a room where we perform operations: cut into people to fix something that's wrong inside them..."

"Sounds frightful," commented Rachel.

"But sometimes it's the best thing to do, to cure them," continued Benjamin. "There's lots more I could explain, but now: tell me about yourselves. I'm still curious to know why you're so bent on taking ship—it's a dangerous venture at any time, especially now in the winter—"

"Let's leave that until after supper: it's just ready," interrupted Laura from the stove. She called down the children and they all sat around the table, while plates piled high with fish, potatoes and vegetables were handed round. After supper, the children insisted on showing Michael and Rachel their toys and inviting them to play with them—to which Rachel readily agreed; Michael a bit more reluctantly, but eventually he caved in, a bit embarrassed, kneeling on the floor and helping the eldest daughter to arrange miniature tables and chairs in her dolls' house. Eventually, Laura pronounced bed-time and ushered the children, somewhat tearful, out of the kitchen.

"So, once again, what are your plans?" repeated Benjamin.

Michael started to explain. He decided that it was best to be honest, to some extent, with this man. But nevertheless he couldn't come out with the truth. "We're on the run—but perhaps you've already guessed that. You know something of the Kentak district, and the surrounding area, don't you?" (he made no mention of Waknuk). "So you know that places like that, out west and close to the Fringes, most of the folks there are in farming families—well, they are very authoritarian, narrow-minded, and prejudiced, compared with Rigo. And they're absolutely terrified of Mutations—which in any case are a lot more common out there, than they are here. So much so, that anyone who conceals a Mutant—especially a human one—from the authorities faces a lengthy prison sentence. Well, that was our downfall. There was a little girl born thereabouts, who had six toes on each foot. Not much to mark her out, you would think! But, in the insular, bigoted climate of those parts, that was enough to have her classed as a Blasphemy. We shielded her for a while—" (Michael found it easy to transfer David's childish 'crime', to himself). "—but we were found out. We had to run for it."

As he was recounting this only partly-true story, Michael suddenly remembered how Sophie had told him about the _'awfully nice doctor, a woman'_, to whom she'd been taken as a child to have—no matter what. Were all the doctors in Rigo as 'nice' as that one, and Benjamin here, even when they were forced to do something unpleasant? But Benjamin interrupted his thoughts.

"Wouldn't it have been safe enough for you to settle in these parts?" he asked. "Maybe not in Rigo itself—you're clearly not city folk—but in one of the nearby villages? You could get taken on as farm-hands—until you've saved up enough to buy a farm for yourselves."

"Yes, we thought of that," said Michael, carefully. "But we were being pursued almost as far as Rigo itself. Why they're so determined to come after us, I don't know: perhaps they think we're sheltering other Blasphemies. And our pursuers are farming folk, themselves: the first thing they'd think of, was to search out the farms in the area. And besides, we've both got an urge to see the world. That means going to sea. Maybe even that far-off land where your grandparents originally came from." Benjamin smiled at this. "Or elsewhere: the world's a big place. Even bigger than we'd thought, from what your father told us."

"Hmmm... a bit risky, I'd say. You're both very young, and a bit headstrong: I'd advise against it. But if you're absolutely determined, you'll need to get taken on board ship. I can show you where, in Rigo, to go and make enquiries. But not tonight! I'm on duty early tomorrow morning: I've just got time to show you round parts of the city, and then back to your inn. I'll be back home late tomorrow afternoon: call round then."

Bidding good-night to Laura, Michael and Rachel went out with Benjamin into the street, now lit by numerous oil-lamps set on pillars. He was a good guide: the first place he led them to was the hospital: an imposing building, far bigger than anything even Michael had come across in Kentak. Benjamin took them briefly on a tour inside, but they could take in little of the place: the strange smells and the long network of corridors, all neatly whitewashed, were all too bewildering. Then they went on past the 'university'—a sort of big 'school' for older pupils, Benjamin explained, far vaster than the building in which Michael had received his schooling. Then there was the cathedral, magnificent even at night, beside which Waknuk's modest little church—and even the church in which Michael and Rachel had got 'married'—would have seemed mere huts. Eventually the found themselves back outside the inn.

"Well, I've got to be getting back. Good-night to you both." And with that Benjamin took leave of them.

Michael and Rachel—or 'Mr and Mrs Smith' as they now were—had no trouble checking into the inn: the landlord recognised them from their visit earlier in the day, and, without asking any questions, he showed them to their room, explaining that their friend Peter had already retired for the night. Leaving them with a lit candle, he bade them good night. The room seemed fairly comfortable and airy, not over-furnished, but with a large bed, a wash-stand, and a table with a couple of chairs. Being very tired, they fell asleep almost as soon as they climbed into the bed.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

In the morning both Peter and Samuel joined them at breakfast. Smiling, Peter handed them a substantial wad of dollars.

"First instalment of my loan to you," he said. Samuel was chuckling. "Should see you all right in Rigo for a couple of weeks, as well as pay your bills here at the inn. And no hurry to pay it back! Wait until you've earned a little. Did you say you used to work as a carpenter, Michael? You may be able to find some work here in Rigo, while you're waiting for a ship. I'm sorry, I can't show you around today, I'm still busy with Samuel. You'll have to find your way around Rigo on your own. Don't get lost!"

After breakfast, Michael and Rachel decided to explore the city on their own. Heedful of Peter's warning, they took great care to memorise landmarks that would guide them to the inn—and to Benjamin's house. Both the hospital and the cathedral were easy landmarks, so they concentrated on roads leading to those places. For about two hours they explored many streets, mostly consisting of shops and restaurants. Moving a bit further from the city centre, they came upon rows of rather dowdy houses, all much smaller than the farmhouses they'd been accustomed to at home, and joined up to one another. They were wondering whether any of these houses would be available to rent, when they noticed a card in one of the windows: ROOM TO LET.

"Might be worth asking," said Michael as he knocked on the door. A plump, middle-aged woman with thin grey hair and a rather careworn face answered it. Upon their explaining their needs, she showed them to a rather down-at-heel bedroom, a lot smaller than their room at the inn. But it seemed reasonably clean, and upon Rachel enquiring about the rent, the woman named a figure that would work out considerably cheaper than their stay at the inn. They asked to go away and think about it for a bit.

Once they were out in the street again, Michael said "What about it, Rachel?" Rachel replied, "Ugh! Not a very nice area, is it? And that room—the whole house in fact—looks decidedly shabby. And do you trust that woman?"

"We don't **have** to trust her. We don't have to tell her anything. And if she starts getting inquisitive, well we've already told a few lies, these last two days! Point is, it'd be hard for even Yellow-Hair to find us here, once she's taken down that card—whereas in the inn we'd be easy enough to pin down."

At length Rachel saw the sense in that. They went back into the house and agreed terms with their new landlady, setting the following day for taking up occupancy. Michael was able to pay a deposit on the rent out of his newly-acquired wad of cash. There was, however, one more question he wanted to ask.

"Mrs—er, Mrs—"

"Norman. Mrs Norman, the name's Mrs Norman. Now what was it about?"

"Do you know in what part of the city there are likely to be trade workshops? Carpenters' yards, metal workshops, builders' yards, that sort of thing?"

"Strangers here, eh? And looking for work? You might try going north along this street. Though I won't promise you'll come up with anything."

Thanking her, they went back out into the street, and followed her directions, turning north. Sure enough, after about twenty minutes walking they came to a district full of the kind of workshops Michael was looking for.

But luck was not with them. Michael enquired at many carpenters' yards, but not one of them had any vacancies. After two hours of trying, they were feeling very tired and frustrated. Michael began to wonder if his western accent was betraying him: the speech of Waknuk and Kentak was markedly different from that of Rigo. It could be that these places were suspicious of 'foreigners', especially those who came from 'out west'. It had been so much easier to get that carpenter's job in Kentak! Michael almost wished he was back there.

"Let's make our way back to the City centre and get ourselves some lunch. We're not doing any good here," said Rachel, soothingly.

So back they went. Soon they were seated at a small but clean café, sharing a big meat and potato pie. Just as their plates were being taken away, Michael suddenly started and slapped himself on the forehead.

"Fool! Oh I've been so stupid! Of course! What is it we're **really** looking for in Rigo? A ship to sail in, of course! And where there are ships, there's got to be at least one shipyard, surely. And what trades do shipyards welcome, amongst others? Why, carpenters! That's where I should be looking."

"But not now," insisted Rachel. "Now let's go back to the inn and rest for a while. We're both exhausted. And later in the afternoon we'll be calling on Benjamin again—remember? The shipyard can wait until tomorrow. Perhaps Benjamin can point us towards one. Better than asking Mrs Norman: I don't fancy telling her too much about our plans."

So back to the inn they went, finding their way through Rigo's streets without too much trouble. And later in the afternoon they managed to navigate themselves, with only one or two wrong turnings, back to Benjamin's house. Their timing was perfect: just as they were about to knock on the door they spied Benjamin walking towards them from the end of the street. He was wearing a suit of dark cloth with a white gown over it: this appeared to be the 'uniform' for doctors in those parts.

"Hi there, again! Do come in. Just give me time to change and have a cup of tea, then we'll be out again, exploring more of Rigo."

Laura was in the kitchen with the children: they were all delighted to see their new friends once more. Laura placed a tin of biscuits on the table, and busied herself with making a pot of tea. Rachel watched her with some curiosity, never having seen tea made before.

"Oh, it's quite simple, really," explained Laura. "I use a few spoonfuls of these dried leaves—yes, I know they don't look like much! They don't grow in Labrador: they have to be shipped from much further south, where the climate is much warmer. You put the dry tea in the pot and then pour boiling water over them, then wait a minute or two, and it's ready to drink—hot. With a few drops of milk—and sugar if you prefer."

"Don't you have to boil the water again, with the leaves in it?" asked Rachel, remembering how she used to make cocoa, back at the farm.

"Oh no! You must never do that: it quite spoils the tea. Just make an 'infusion' with the water off the boil."

"And the milk?" continued Rachel, noticing the jug on the table. "I didn't see your cow anywhere: where do you keep her?"

"Oh, we don't need to have our own cow," laughed Laura. "A man comes around early every morning, with a horse and cart, and delivers milk, pours it straight into our milk-jug. He gets it sent to him from a farm a little way outside Rigo. Didn't you have the same arrangement in Kentak?"

"We probably did, but I didn't stay in Kentak long enough to find out. Michael will know." Michael nodded. "Everything's so different, here in Rigo, from what it was back home! At least I recognise sugar. We had that back where I came from, on the farm beyond Kentak—" (she remembered Michael's care not to mention Waknuk) "—comes from the sugar maple trees that grew all around. And a good thing too—or else I'd never have been able to make jam."

"Yes, this is sugar too," said Laura, pointing to the bowl on the table. "But it doesn't come from sugar maple trees: there aren't enough of them growing around Rigo. It comes from a plant called sugar-cane, which grows way down south—like the tea and coffee (have you tried coffee?)—where the weather's much hotter. But it tastes the same as the sugar you're used to. And it's cheaper."

Just then Benjamin re-joined them, and Rachel and Michael, both satisfied with Laura's account, helped themselves to biscuits and downed their cups of tea, while the children had cups of cocoa. Then Benjamin stood up and reached for a rough fur coat hanging on a peg.

"It's going to be chilly later on—I see you've both got furs—good! Let's be going then." He kissed Laura and the children, and out they went.

"Are we going to the harbour? Where the ships are?" asked Michael. Benjamin nodded, and they headed off to the south.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

The harbour was set in a natural bay on the north shore of Lake Melf, which seemed to be about three miles wide at this point, although it seemed to narrow to less than a mile wide, over to the east. Michael tried to make out the far shore, but it was shrouded in mist and little could be discerned. Benjamin explained that the route to the ocean was to the north-east, via the narrow strait. He could tell them little about the shipping on the waterfront: seafaring was not his line of expertise and he had never sailed on the ocean, himself. They could see many ships of all different sizes and types, moored along the waterfront—but little activity except on the smaller ships and boats. Michael and Rachel guessed that these were for plying the coastal trade, perhaps as far as the island of Newf to the south, while the big ocean-going ships stood idle for the present, awaiting calmer weather at the onset of Spring.

Michael was on a mission, however, and they could not linger here long, especially since the afternoon was well advanced. He insisted on being shown where the shipyard was: the place where the ships were actually built, or repaired. So Benjamin led them along the front, past numerous bars and saloons—which reminded Michael of something else. He'd promised himself that, upon reaching Rigo, he'd make enquiries after David's 'Uncle Axel' who was believed to have made for here—although he had very little to go on: he'd never met the old man and didn't even know whether 'Axel' was his Christian name or his surname. But that could wait...

They reached the shipyard. There were a few ships in various stages of construction, plus one ship in dry-dock which was evidently undergoing repairs. Michael recognised it as a brig, with two square-rigged masts, about 150 tons he guessed. Part of the starboard hull was stove in at the forward end. There were two or three men working on the ship, and he hailed them.

"Do you know if anyone's on the lookout for a good carpenter? I'm after a position, around here if possible."

One of the men paused his work, and looked Michael over. "You'd better speak to the Chief. Over there," he said, pointing to a hut across the yard.

So they went over to the foreman's hut. Michael asked the others to wait while he knocked, went in, and introduced himself to the foreman. He explained his wishes in a few words.

"Carpenter, eh? If you're good enough, we can certainly use a skilled carpenter. There's not much work on just now, but it'll pick up in a week or two when the big ocean-going ships get moving again. You say you've plenty of experience, but not worked on ships? Well, at least you're honest about it—so many lads come here and tell me all sorts of stories! I can tell from your accent, you're not from these parts, so I'm not surprised if the sea is new to you. Let's see what you can do. We've still got an hour of daylight—at present we're not working nights, but will do so when the trade picks up."

They walked across to the brig, and went on board. Some of the foredeck had been taken up, to give access to the hull. "This is the _Dauntless_. A fine ship. I'm sure you've had a look around already: you can see how her hull's been stove in, just on the waterline. Ran aground, she did, just at the entrance to Lake Melf, trying to make for the lake entrance in a strong squall. The crew abandoned her and were all saved, luckily: once the squall subsided they were able to re-board and re-float her, and with temporary patching they managed to limp her back to the harbour."

"Is she an ocean-going ship? Sailing far?" asked Michael, tentatively.

"Yes she certainly is. Been south as far as the Indies, if you know where those are: I'm sure your friend does," nodding towards Benjamin. "One of the fleet of ships that does the spice run, bringing back cloves, nutmeg, pepper, tea, coffee, bananas, rum, all sorts of things. Couldn't do without her—which is why she's in for repairs. So—how about a little job, then? You see that several of the ribs—the timbers that run crosswise across the hull, are broken. See if you can fix one of them."

"I don't have my tools with me," said Michael, simply. He didn't want to explain how he had had to abandon them in Kentak, when he and Rachel had to flee for their lives. "Is there somewhere I can borrow some?"

"Sure. Look in the tool shed over there." And with that the foreman returned to his hut, promising to return later.

Michael took a little while selecting saws, an adze, planes, chisels, and a rule; then, with the help of one of the other workers, he picked up a suitable log from the pile of timber in the yard, carried it on board the ship, and fell to work, carefully trying to replicate the curved shape of the rib he was replacing. He was delighted to find that his skills had not left him, and in a little over half an hour he had successfully spliced in a new timber to replace the damaged rib. Just as he was stepping back to admire his handiwork, the foreman re-appeared.

"Well, well, lad! That looks pretty neat to me. And firm enough, I hope!" He went over to the newly-fitted rib and gave it a hefty kick. It did not budge. "And solid enough, too. But," and he bent over and squinted along the line of ribs, "not _quite_ the right shape, my boy. Just an inch or two out of line. Of course, when you're putting up rafters in a barn, or whatever you're used to where you come from, that sort of thing doesn't matter—but it **does** matter on a ship. If the ribs are even a little bit out of true, she'll spring a leak.

"But never mind about that. For someone who's never fitted a ship's rib before, you've done admirably, my boy. So come along tomorrow and I'll have a job waiting for you: you're hired. The first thing I'll set you to do is to repair that rib—and all the others which are broken—**properly**. One of the other lads will show you the technique for getting them true. And then, after that, there are the planks—we call them strakes—which go lengthwise over the ribs. They have to be properly shaped too. So there's plenty of work lined up. I'm confident you'll do."

Michael was a bit disappointed that he had not _quite_ hit the mark with his first attempt at ship repairs, but he was delighted to get the job all the same. The foreman had not yet mentioned wages, but Rachel and he did not need much: enough to pay the rent, keep them in food and clothing, and hopefully buy them a passage across the ocean. Oh, and of course, to re-pay Peter's loan—but Peter had already said, that could wait.

There was one more question he wanted to ask the foreman: "Do you know when this ship will be ready? When she'll sail, and where to? My wife here and I would like to book passage, if it's going where we want to go."

"Can't answer for that, sorry, you'll have to ask the owners—and they won't be back for a few weeks yet. I wish you luck."

With that, they took their leave of the foreman and walked back along the waterfront. Michael and Rachel proposed to have something to eat in one of the many bars along the street. They invited Benjamin to join them, but he excused himself, saying he had to get home to Laura and the children, and supper would be waiting for him there.

"Are you OK with finding your way back to the inn? You say you are? All right then, good night." And with a wave, Benjamin was gone.

So Michael and Rachel were left on their own to sound out the bars. Michael had already explained to Rachel his intention of seeking out David's Uncle Axel, if there was even a remote chance he might be in the area. So they walked into the first bar and tentatively asked the landlord.

" 'Axel', eh? Unusual name. No, can't say as I remember anyone called that. Christian name or surname?"

Michael said he didn't know.

"And gammy leg you say? Elderly, but quite tall and sturdy, walks with a stick, bushy grey eyebrows?" This was as much of David's description of his uncle as Michael could remember. "No, sorry, can't think of anyone fitting that description. You could try some of the other bars along the road."

So they thanked him and went along to the next bar. They had no better success at the next four they visited. But at the sixth bar, as they were explaining once more to the landlord, an old man with a bushy white beard, who had overheard their enquiries, came up to them.

"Did you say 'Axel'? And did you say, you heard his name from a friend of yours who knew him since childhood? I wonder if your friend got the name wrong. I used to sail alongside a chap called 'Alex'—'Alexander Stubbs' was his name in full. And yes he broke his leg while at sea, and after that retired from seafaring. I haven't seen him since, I'm afraid. Any more you can say about him?"

Michael suddenly remembered something else David had told him. "He had a wife, name of \Elizabeth, lived here in Rigo, but she died while he was away at sea. That would have been his last voyage, the one in which he broke his leg."

"Well, that fits as well. I do remember Alex had a wife living here, and that she'd died. So it looks very much as if we've pinned down your man. But I'm afraid I've not seen him for many years—certainly not come across him in Rigo recently. Sorry."

But just at that moment another, younger man came over to join them. He was dressed in a vivid scarlet jacket, resplendent with bright brass buttons, breeches, knee-length close-fitting boots, and a wide-brimmed hat. Both Michael and Rachel were puzzled at his clothing. Some sort of uniform, they guessed. "Are you the Deviations Inspector here?" Michael asked.

"No, not exactly. But my job here is to help keep the peace—make sure that folks behave themselves!—and to help out anyone in trouble, strangers especially. We're sort of policemen: people here call us 'Mounties' because we do most of our work on horseback. I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. Alexander Stubbs! I recall the name. But I'm sorry, it's not good news."

"Please tell us," replied Michael. "We've been seeking him out for a long time."

"He's dead, I'm afraid. A man answering your description was found lying in the roadway, about a month ago, just over ten miles west of Rigo. A horse was standing nearby, and all the evidence points to him having fallen from his horse. An accident. His neck was broken: it must have been a quick end with very little suffering," he added, noticing that Rachel was close to tears. "And yes, his Normalcy card was on him, and it gave the name 'Alexander Stubbs'. So it looks like that's your man, I'm afraid. I'm so very sorry..."

At this point Rachel could no longer hold back her tears. But she was composed enough to hiss a quick thought-shape at Michael: _"It wasn't an accident!"_ Michael, as he comforted her, couldn't help but agree with her. _"I wonder if Yellow-Hair was involved in this? Axel was already suspected, back in Waknuk. Poor Axel—so he never made it to Rigo."_

When Rachel had recovered herself, they thanked their new-found friends and decided to order a light supper, with a couple of glasses of ale, right there at that bar. But they could eat and drink only little of it. Wearily they took their leave and made their way back to the inn.


End file.
